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em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Text

Cherry Waves

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Minor Spoilers for Thunderbolts! Fluff, Mentions of low self-esteem/ self-deprecation, Smut

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Y’all…You know the drill…Protect yourselves lol), Some hair pulling (very light hair pulling), Reader is being a little bit dominant (if you squint), Bob is being a softie (and it’s hot as shit), Fingering, Squirting, Teasing, Biting, and Some marks are left.

Author's Note: Had this boy lined up and really wanted to post it. Loved the little hint that Bob was not liking the blonde that Sentry had lol so this is definitely something that would probably have happened if he didn’t return back to normal in the movie 😅Also, y’all are awesome and I appreciate you guys for enjoying my little blurbs!❤️ Thank you.

Word Count: 14,094

You were buried under layers of sweat and crumpled tissues when the knock came against your bedroom door.

Three soft taps.

So quiet, they could’ve been the compound settling. It was hesitant–polite almost. It was the kind of knock someone does when they’re not sure if they’re allowed to be asking for anything at all.

You barely stirred in your bed. The flu had you pinned to the mattress like a paper doll, aching and clammy and convinced the walls were breathing in sync with you. Hallucinations had become your new roommates–so when you heard the knock, you assumed it was just one of them, wandering through your mind again.

But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.

”Y/N…It’s Bob…Can I come in?” You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.

Bob.

Of course it was Bob.

You’d almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the world’s most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldn’t possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.

“All you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,” He’d told you. “Make sure he eats. Make sure he’s not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Y’know. Normal people stuff.”

It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, you’d shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled “You good?” While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.

But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do list–somewhere below “don’t die” and “get a new tissue”.

“…It’s open,” You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.

The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museums–like one wrong step might unplug or break something important.

He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too close–being mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didn’t want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in it–even though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe staple–a dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.

You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.

”You okay?” You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.

”Yeah. Of course…I mean…I’m good, I just…” He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.

He wasn’t just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhere–behind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room before– the first time was always an experience for people who didn’t know you were a secret collector of everything.

His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.

There was a flicker in his expression–surprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like he’d just stumbled into a part of you that he didn’t expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.

”…Bob,” You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didn’t blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, “Earth to Bob. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.

”Sorry…Sorry,” He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, “Didn’t mean to, uh…Y’know, snoop or anything. I’ve just never seen your room before, you’ve got a lot of cool stuff.” You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.

”You’re lucky I feel like death. Otherwise I’d be giving you the grand tour right now…I also include a quiz at the end.” Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.

“I’d definitely fail…So I’m kind of glad…Well I’m not glad you’re sick, I’m just glad I don’t have to do a quiz.” Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.

”Very smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.” Bob made a quiet noise–somewhere between a breathy laugh and a groan–keeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.

”So…What’s going on? Why’d you knock on my door at…” You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, “Seven fifty three in the morning?” Bob sighed.

”Well…I need to go to the drug store,” He admitted, his voice sheepish, “And I know Bucky’s not really a fan of me going out alone so…Thought I’d ask my babysitter.” You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.

”Are you getting sick or something?” He immediately shook his head.

”No, no it’s nothing like that. I haven’t really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serum…” You quirked your brow at him.

”So…What’s the reason for the drug store trip then?” Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.

“I um…I need to buy something. For myself.” He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.

”Is it serious?”

”No,” He said quickly, “It’s not like…Health-serious or anything, I’m fine physically, I just…” He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.

”You do realize I’m gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?” Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.

”Fine…Fine…I need to buy…Hair dye.” He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.

”Hair dye?” Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didn’t mean for it to sound like you were judging him.

”Mhm…” You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.

“You woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morning…For hair dye?” You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you weren’t experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.

”It’s not just–“ He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “I mean…It is…But I just…” The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, “I just don’t like what it looks like anymore.” There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.

“The bleach… The whole look,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, “It was for him. For the Sentry. That’s what they said, anyway– they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighter…Like it would somehow separate us…But I still have to live in this body when he’s not around.” Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, “I still have to see myself…And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when I’m just…Bob.” You didn’t say anything at first–not because you didn’t want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.

“It’s not stupid.” You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, “Wanting to see yourself again isn’t stupid Bob…It’s just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control of…I get it.” His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this moment…It was like he felt seen.

”So I’ll help…But I need to see what we’re working with first.” You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.

”W-What?” You sighed.

”That hat Bob…Just take it off…I haven’t seen your hair since we moved you in here and you’ve been hiding it like it’s some sort of radioactive test subject.” He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.

”I-I really don’t think that’s necessary,” He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.

”Bob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for help…So let me help you…Let me see it.” The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.

You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.

Bob’s fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didn’t want to let go of the safety it provided him.

The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightly–not in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you remembered–shaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back in–soft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.

He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentry–just…Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerability–like this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.

“It’s not that bad,” You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, “Really. It just needs some love, patience…Maybe a deep condition…And the right shade of brown.” Bob’s head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

”S-So you’re actually going to help? Y-You didn’t just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?” You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.

”No I didn’t try to trick you… I’m going to help, but first, I’m gonna need you to come here and make sure I don’t fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like they’re made of jelly.” For a split second Bob wasn’t sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.

”Alright…Whenever you’re ready I g-guess.” He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the ‘guess’ like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.

Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.

“Woah–woah, okay.” Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.

Despite everything—the fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the walls—you still smelled…Good.

Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.

It wasn’t some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasn’t perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just you–fresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.

”You alright Bob?” You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didn’t say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.

”Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldn’t help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.

You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweater–fresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.

Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.

”You can let go now,” You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.

”I’m good,” You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, “Just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I don’t scare the public by looking like a corpse.” Bob nodded immediately.

”Yeah, of course, I’ll just…I’ll wait in the hallway. There’s no rush or anything, uh…Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.” He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, “Just call me if you need anything.” He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwaved–sweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft he’d been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.

You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.

Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passed–your new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.

“Let’s get outta here.”

——————

Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.

It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.

Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.

“Well…We know what row we need to look at.” You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning colours–rows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espresso–pushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.

“I didn’t think it was going to be so complicated…” He murmured from behind you, “I just thought there would be straight forward choices…” You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.

”It’s just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. See…” You pointed at one box “This one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,” Then pointed to the other one right beside it,”While this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re the same colour.” Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.

“Alright…But what if I just want…Normal dye?” You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.

”Bob…This is normal dye.” He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.

“W-Well yeah but–but you know what I mean don’t you? It doesn’t have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.” You let out a small laugh.

”Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.” Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.

”Okay…I guess you’re right.” He replied nervously.

”We’ll find your colour, I promise.” You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.

“Should I, uh…Take my hat off? Would that help?” You tilted your head at him, and nodded.

”It would definitely make this a much quicker process…But if it really bothers you, I’m pretty sure I could go off of memory.” Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.

”I don’t mind, it’s basically just us in here anyway.” You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.

”Alright,” You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, “Bend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.” He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expected—closer than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.

You smelled like cherry cough drops–sickly sweet and medicinal—and it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.

You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didn’t know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.

Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves

A soft rattling sound reached your ears then–the kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.

“Is the Sentry getting a bit flustered?” You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. “Or is that just you rattling like a soda can?”

Bob made a noise–half sigh, half laugh–ducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. “It’s definitely just me. He’s, uh…He’s fine.”

“Good,” You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. “Because I don’t think he’d let me manhandle his hair like this.”

“You’re not…Manhandling anything,” He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. “Feels…Kinda nice, actually.” You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.

“…This is your shade,” You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didn’t move at first, it was as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didn’t hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.

“Now we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that I’m grabbing some snacks, cause I’m getting hungry.” He looked away from you, nodding.

”Yeah, okay…Conditioner and snack. Got it.” You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfare–the shampoo and conditioner area–and skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.

“This one,” You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, “Will do miracles for the damage, you’re gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.” Bob glanced at the package.

”Does it…Sting?” Your eyebrows drew together.

”Bob…It's conditioner, not acid.” He bit his inner lip.

”No, I-I know, I’m just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burned…Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just don’t want to go through that again.” You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didn’t really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.

“I promise this will be way less abrasive.” You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, “Now let’s get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.” Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bob’s chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.

“So…What’re you craving?” He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, “Sweet? Salty?” You hummed.

”Might buy the whole aisle to be honest…” He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the store’s staticky music, but warmer than anything you’d heard in days.

”Seems like your appetite has come back.” You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.

”Yeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recovery…Just don’t touch my lower back…It’s a little sweaty.” There was a beat of silence, before you continued “My stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and I’ll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.”

“Well that took a turn…” You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.

”I like to keep you on your toes Bob.” You replied with a smirk.

—————-

Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.

You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training camp–frayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelena’s hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words “I SURVIVED CAMP HAMMOND” on the front of it, a great memory of how long it’s been since you were actually training.

You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.

Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.

“Alright,” You announced as you stepped inside, “Your hair hero has arrived.” Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.

”You brought your own bowl?” He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.

“Of course I brought my own bowl,” You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, “What kind of amateur do you think I am?” You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.

You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edge–the dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.

“Okay,” You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, “Let’s get you situated hm?” Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.

”Go sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.” You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.

“Uh…Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everything…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.

”You’re not a bother Bob.,” You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, “I don’t mind.” He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.

You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.

It was quiet for a moment–peaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bob’s eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.

”What’s…Camp Hammond?” He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didn’t look over at him immediately–still focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like texture–but your mouth twitched slightly.

”Did you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?” You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “Hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t that cool.” Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.

”So what is it? Like…A boot camp or something?” You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.

”Kind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.” He leaned forward a bit.

”Was it…Bad?” You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.

”No. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.” At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bob’s nature he was observant enough to catch on that you weren’t going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”Before I forget–you should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and there’s a really low chance you’re going to be able to get it out.” You said, motioning with the brush, “Unless you actually want brown splatters all over it.” You added, seeing him look down at himself.

“Oh…Uh…” He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, “I’m not…Wearing anything under it.” You paused.

”You could go find something you don’t mind ruining, I can wait.” Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.

”I don’t really have anything…I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I don’t.” You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.

”Guess we have a dilemma then.” You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towel–a solution of sorts.

”I mean…I could take it off, I just…Just promise me you won’t laugh.” You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.

”Okay. I won’t laugh.” You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his arms—he had to peel it upward with a bit of a twist—and then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.

You froze.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.

The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.

He was…Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left rib–thin and silvery and healed long ago–and there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admiration…

And his arms–Jesus Christ, his arms–were gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.

He wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t want perfect. This–this was so much better.

The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.

You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from you– Or anybody else for that matter?

“Wow…” Was all you could say, and you didn’t even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bob’s head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.

”Yeah I know…” He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, “I know it’s bad…The serum kinda…I don’t know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.” You raised your hand to stop him.

”Woah woah…Don’t even go there Bob. I wasn’t saying wow in a bad way.” He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.

”…You weren’t?” He questioned, his lips parting a bit.

”Bob…You’re built like a fucking house.” You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.

”That’s…A very generous interpretation, but you don’t have to lie to me…” Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.

”Bob, I’ve never lied to you…And I’m certainly not starting now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, “You look amazing, and I mean it.” That was when you heard it again–the faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didn’t really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.

Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.

“…You’re really not going to laugh at me?” He asked, almost like he truly couldn’t believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.

”Bob, the only thing I’m going to be doing right now is wondering how I’m supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like this…Does that make you feel any better?” Bob let out a soft, startled breath–almost like a laugh or like he didn’t know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.

His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexed–then unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.

“I…” He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light “I think that makes it so much worse, actually.”

“Worse?” Bob nodded faintly.

“Yeah…Because now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you...” His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.

The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chest–not violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.

And still, somehow, he smiled.

The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.

You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.

“Well,” You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest “You’re gonna have to wait until after your hair’s done. I’m not making out with someone mid-dye job–this stuff stains.” You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bob’s breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.

”Right, right, of course.” He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.

”Now, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.” You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.

”Y-Yes, ma’am.” He responded breathlessly, without even thinking–so soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of it—chemical but faintly sweet—mingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bob’s hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.

He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frame–but now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.

You worked in silence for a little while. It wasn’t awkward—just thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment that’s humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…Can I touch you?”

The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.

“Touch me?” You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.

“Not in a weird way I just–I need to…To do something with my hands.”Your lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didn’t mind one bit.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “You can touch me.”

The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.

They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.

Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw it–his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.

You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to him–how he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.

“You okay down there?” You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally opened–heavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.

“Yeah,” He breathed. “Just…I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.” You couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his voice.

“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to that…Even though now you’re going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.

“…What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?” He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.

You weren’t going to give in that easily though.

“Oh I’m sure we could think of something.” Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didn’t say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.

You didn’t move much at first–just enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.

You dipped in–slow, and teasing–until your lips were just above his. A hair’s breadth away from connecting.

But then you stopped.

Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do it…But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.

“…Y/N.” He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Y-You know what…You’re driving me crazy…” He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.

“That’s the point.” You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didn’t move you closer, even though he could’ve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.

Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.

“…You don’t know what you’re doing to me…God…You have no idea.” He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.

”I think I have a pretty good idea,” You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear “You’re the one shaking, Bob.” You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.

”I’m t-trying my best to be good for you…But you’re making this so hard.” The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. “…You can do whatever you want to me…” He whispered, “Just please…Please don’t stop touching me.” Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.

It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.

”…The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,” You said softly, “And I think we’re both a little overheated, aren’t we?” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.

”W–What do you–“

”I think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,” You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, “That okay with you?” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bob’s fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.

“I’ll rinse out your hair, get the dye out…Then maybe–“ Your voice dropped into a whisper, “–I’ll let you kiss me…Think you can manage to wait?” Bob let out a small broken sound–between a laugh and a groan.

”I-I can try,” He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didn’t step away from him entirely–just retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel you’d need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.

With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.

The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at him–still seated, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimate–like the air itself was folding in to watch.

You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.

Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.

“Want to undress me?” You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this time–just heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.

”Y-Yeah, o-of course I do.” He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.

He took his time with it–not from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.

He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.

Bob’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holy–like he wouldn’t blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.

He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.

“Jesus…” He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.

“You’re so beautiful…” You whispered, feeling Bob’s fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“And you’re immaculate…” He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didn’t want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasn’t helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.

“I’ll meet you in the shower,” Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint you’d been nursing for the last hour.

From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beep–because what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.

He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.

”Remember, we gotta wash your hair out first.” Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.

”Close your eyes,” You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crisp–something like cedar and citrus–and you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.

Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touch–soft and barely audible over the rush of water–but he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.

He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.

”No peeking,” You teased, your voice low and sultry, “You’ll get soap in your eyes, and that’ll just prolong the process.” You added, with a smirk.

”I-I’m not peeking,” He muttered back, clearly lying.

But while he couldn’t see you, you saw everything.

Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of him–completely, gloriously bare under the water’s fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.

He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.

It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He was…Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed still–eyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.

You swallowed, trying not to stare too long–but your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.

The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.

You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.

”There you are,” You whispered, more to yourself than to him, “Back to you…” You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.

”…W-What does it look like?” He asked softly.

”Like it’s all you…It’s perfect Bob…” You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.

”…Can I kiss you now?” He whispered, breath catching in his throat.

You nodded.

And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like he’d been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chest–deep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.

His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.

Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore–only quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldn’t quite get enough.

You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he did it–because now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didn’t push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.

”I-I have to touch you…Can I p-please touch you?” His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shoulders–like it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.

Bob’s hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didn’t hesitate.

His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at first–soft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.

That was all the invitation Bob needed.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.

”So…So soft,” He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, “So goddamn soft…” Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body responding–arching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didn’t bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.

Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.

You were soaked–slick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.

“F-fuck,” You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didn’t flinch at the scratch–he moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin there–kissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasn’t the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.

“Y-You feel so warm…” He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bob’s hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.

And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laugh–utterly wrecked by how responsive you were.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. “I can feel it…God, I can feel you squeezing me…”

You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.

Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and that’s when you saw stars.

Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of him—clean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise now—soft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.

“Just like that, baby—so good for me… You’re doing so good—feels like heaven—fuck, I want to see you fall apart…”

You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.

A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gasped—loud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.

Bob stilled for a second in awe.

“…Oh my God,” He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.

He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to him–and his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.

”You…You did so good.” He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.

The kiss wasn’t hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something he’d only ever imagined–careful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadn’t yet broken.

When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absence–but before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.

He was still in his movements.

Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his hand–and then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.

Bob made a sound that almost didn’t make it out of him–a soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.

He could barely breathe.

You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasn’t a power play–it was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.

Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged them–slow and reverent–down your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting you–smearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.

“Y/N…You’re so…So perfect,” He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower

”Do you want to…Still have sex with me?” You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.

”Of course I do,” You responded instantly.

Your lips found his right after–soft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you weren’t going to vanish, that you really did want this–want him.

As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt it–the soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.

You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didn’t rush. And neither did you.

“I want you,” You said, your breath warm against his mouth. “All of you.” Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.

Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.

Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so much–thick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.

“Is that okay?” He asked, voice cracking. “I—I can stop if it’s too much…”

You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“No. Please don’t stop.”

Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you again–slow, sweet–before sinking deeper inside.

You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.

It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Oh…God.” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. “You’re so…So perfect… I can’t–God–”

You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “You’re okay, Bob. You’re doing so good…”

He began to move–shallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.

He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.

He kissed you everywhere he could reach–your cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“You feel so good around me…”

“I want to make you feel everything…”

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.

Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.

Then his thrusts started to falter.

You felt it in the way he gasped–sharp and helpless–the way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.

“I—Y/N, I—oh God, I’m—”

You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He came with a broken gasp.

The lights flickered.

Just once–flicker, flicker, black–and then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.

And then he went still.

Completely, and utterly still.

He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.

He didn’t move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.

And then you felt it–the slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, still breathless. “That was so fast. I didn’t mean to-God, I just couldn’t hold it…”

You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. “You didn’t finish too fast, Bob.”

He blinked, lips parting like he didn’t believe you.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, “You were perfect. I loved every second of it…Because it was with you.” His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slower–like he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didn’t want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.

He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldn’t quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.

”You really like touching me, huh?” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.

”…Yeah…I really do.” He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.

“As much as I’d love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,” You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, “If we don’t rinse off soon, the compound’s water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.” Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.

“I guess you’re right, but once we get cleaned up…I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little while…If that’s okay?” You nodded.

”Of course it’s okay.” You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadn’t just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.

And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.

You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowly–like he wasn’t sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.

A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.

He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lips–barely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You smiled into him, nose brushing his. “Don’t thank me yet,” You whispered. “I hope you don’t get the flu from all of this.”

He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“If I do,” He said, “It’ll be worth every damn minute.”

And then he kissed you again.

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stardust-and-fries · 7 months ago

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Oh boy!! A chance for me to yap about gender at length?!?!!?!? DON'T MIND IF I DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [See tags for details. But be warned... I Popped the Fuck OFF writing this one, it's a doozy!]

Sorry if this is rude, but how do you identify? I looked around a bit and couldn't find anything, my apologies

Not rude! Honestly, I don't know these days! Lots of thoughts swirling around in my head. Maybe this is too much, but also maybe saying something instead of keeping it inside will be helpful... I'll put my gender thoughts under the cut... maybe someone can relate and offer some thoughts lol:

Recently, I came to the conclusion that I'm really not attracted to men at all, and maybe, I never have been. Looking back, I can kind of clearly see that any crush on a guy I thought I had was more like "wow, this person is COOL as HELL. I hope we can be really good friends." And then I noticed, that any crush I had on a girl felt... different. The feeling was totally different, and it still is. Have you noticed how most of the men I draw are quite feminine? I also have no idea what's going on with my gender. I know I'm me, a Yugo, I also can't comfortably say what exactly I am. Though by technicality, I am nonbinary, the word doesn't feel QUITE right to use for me. Maybe genderqueer is better. I've never identified as a man, but I have identified as transmasc and taken T. I really do like the results I've gotten from that. But at the same time, I don't really feel close to "manhood" at all, but something about having a mustache sometimes, like I tend to do, feels right to me still. I also like to wear lipstick and stuff. I don't know. I'm also not a "woman" I don't think, but I identify with more... I don't know, masculine expressions of womanhood if that makes sense? I am very androgynous in expression, in short. So basically I don't know what the hell is going on. All I know is I love women LOL. Can anyone relate to any of this? Any ideas?? I will not be offended by any assumptions you might have lol. Maybe I should just make a comic about this.

#gotta say that I MASSIVELY resonate with this post #I've been finding value in taking steps back and looking at gender from the bottom-up (rather than top-down)#seeing what bits and bobs of presentation I like and what I dont. vs picking a sort of ''gender north'' and trying to guide myself to that #(like. yknow. magnetic north. I mightve phrased that oddly)#admittedly it's a bit of a slog! turns out you can't just think your gender into existence!! who knew!!!#so far the gender I'm running with is ''Roger Rabbit rules'': whatever's funniest! (with a hefty sprinkling of dykey-futch. for flavor.)#the way I see it; gender is a dialectic construct--it only exists in-between people. only in the third person!#after all! if it's just yourself in a void there's no need for pronouns or even names!#and even with a second person in the equation the most you'd need is ''me/my'' ''you/your'' or ''us/ours''#so when ya think about gender as a *tool* rather than a *role* things start to go topsy-turvy (in the useful way) and limits become options #all that's left is to ask what kinda tool fits which kinds of job!#for me that's led to my gender-tool becoming some manner of a joke; I want my tool to help me do sillyness and bring people joy!!#(and maybe sometimes it's a dirty joke. or a gallows joke. or a teasing joke. or an outright mean joke. or plain ol' slapstick!)#so when I find someone who seems like they have a good joke (or at least a good sense of humor) I take some notes to help improve my routine #and maybe it's not always time for wacky. sometimes ya just need to play the straight man (sometimes too literally...)#but I definitely need to watch my ESRB rating around kids. and usually old grouches too.#and for some reason people get mad when I bring up The Twin Towers or The Alamo!! *pats chest-bits and hip-bit in rhythm while saying that*#eyyy hahahaaa badabing!!! >;3 #and finally; it's important to keep in mind how closely linked comedy and romance/sexuality/etc are. very close but still distinct concepts.#the most frequent question I ask myself when interacting with a cutie is; ''do I like their comedy or the comedian?''#either/both of which is a good answer! and often it's hard to separate the two!#I hope this helps whoever reads it. or was amusing at least.#I had fun writing all this! It's something I frequently think about and always delight in talking about #if it means anything to anyone then that's an absolute bonus! but otherwise I'm happy to get it out in writing.#anyways. I'm going back to doing studies of Inspekta! one of VERY few men to strike me genderously. he's so shapes :3 #(though fuck knows that the whole damn GROVE is full of some absolutely *choice* GenderFood)

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fireinmoonshot · 1 month ago

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unreal | robert reynolds x reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: Bob offers for you to share his room while your room in the Watch Tower gets renovated... there's just one problem – he didn't think about the fact that he'd have to share a bed with you. Warnings: General mentions of mental health issues (nothing specific) Word Count: 2.1k A/N: Okay, so it's been over a week since I last wrote for Bob and the response on my last Bob fic is insane. I cannot believe how much love it's gotten 🥹 I have since seen Thunderbolts three more times and I love Bob even more. This was the fic idea that won in the poll I posted earlier today and it was so enjoyable to write. I am really looking forward to writing more for him (including the other ideas that I had in the poll). I hope you all enjoy this one as well. Requests are always open! 💗

“You can share my room” are five words that Bob regrets the second that they’re out of his mouth. Not because he doesn’t want you to share his room, but just because now that it’s out in the open, the prospect of you saying yes is terrifying.

When you’d all moved into the Watch Tower, you hadn’t considered the fact that most of the building was still a work in progress. There were so many rooms that still needed to be built and while there had been bedrooms, there weren’t many and Valentina had insisted on building you all your own. Nothing but the best for my New Avengers, she’d said.

Your bedroom was the last one to be renovated. Every other member of the team had gone through the room-sharing phase while their rooms were completed. Yelena and Ava had always shared, though they’d hated every second of it – both girls loved their personal space. Both Bucky and John refused to share with Alexei. Bob had managed to come out the other end without sharing a room at all.

Until his offer to you, that is.

“Seriously?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you look around at the others. “None of you are offering to share with me so you’re making Bob offer?”

Walker scoffs. “You think we put him up to it? Please.”

“No one put me up to it,” Bob shakes his head. “I just thought I’d ask you since… y’know… none of the others have… and you probably don’t wanna sleep on the couch out here.”

He’s not really sure why he’d offered, actually. The words had been out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to think them over, which was strange for him. He supposes it might have something to do with the fact that he’s been crushing on you for a solid few months. It would be fine, though. He didn’t have a couch in his room, but he’s slept on his fair share of floors before and this one would be no different. Sharing a bedroom with someone he was slowly falling head over heels with was definitely going to end well.

You cross the room and put a hand down on Bob’s shoulder. “Are you really sure you want me to share with you? I know you haven’t had to share before and I really don’t want to intrude on your space.” Your voice is soft, for Bob’s ears only.

He nods once. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

You don’t completely believe him. He’s undoubtedly the most independent out of all of you, but it’s been proven that he really does love being around other people. The last thing you want is to get in his way or make him uncomfortable.

“Bob,” you meet his eyes.

His lips turn up into a small smile at the tone of your voice. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to share with you.”

That seems to do the trick, because you nod your head and step away from Bob after that before announcing that you’re going to go and start getting all your things together.

That afternoon, you move your things into his room so that the renovations can start on your own. Bob makes some space for you – not that he has a lot of things himself – but he wants to make you feel comfortable. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re living in his room. He wants it to feel like it’s yours too.

It only starts to feel real once it’s gotten dark outside and everyone has started to retire to bed. Once he’s in his room again, sitting on a bean bag in the corner, a book in his hand and he sees you walk into his room, hair a little bit wet from your shower.

“I just realised,” you say, stopping in the centre of the room and looking around, “that you don’t have a couch.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bob nods, closing the book and sitting up a little straighter. “I just sit here. I, uh, I changed the sheets on the bed earlier so that you don’t have to sleep in dirty ones.”

You frown and look over at him. “Me? I’m not sleeping in your bed, Bob. I assumed I’d sleep on the couch. But I can just sleep on your beanbag. I’ll go and find some blankets…”

You turn to go and leave the room when you see Bob standing up in the corner of your eye. He stumbles a little, the blanket on the ground in front of him briefly catching his feet, and then rights himself.

“No, you don’t have to do that,” he says. “You take the bed. I’m fine with sleeping on the floor. I’ve done it more often than you think.”

“Bob… you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s really okay.”

He really doesn’t mind. As long as you’re comfortable, he will be too. He’s slept in worse places. Plus, he doubts he’d even be able to sleep soundly knowing you were uncomfortable on the cold, hard floor. How could he let the person he likes sleep there rather than on his perfectly comfortable bed?

You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head, slowly starting to walk towards him. This is a losing battle, you can see that. There’s no way that Bob is going to relent and let you sleep on the floor or the bean bag, and there’s no way you’re going to let him sleep there either. You couldn’t live with yourself if he did.

“Why don’t we both take the bed?” You suggest.

Bob’s eyes widen a little and he opens his mouth and then closes it again without saying anything. That’s the last thing he’d expected you to say. Sharing a bed? Had any of the others shared beds when they’d shared rooms? He highly doubted that. The members of the New Avengers weren’t particularly comfortable when it came to physical contact.

“I don’t think we have to do that,” he mutters.

“Why not? I don’t mind it. That way, we both get to sleep on the bed and neither of us have to be uncomfortable on the floor. I promise I’ll stick to my side.”

Bob stares at you for a moment. You’re really suggesting this. You really want to share a bed with him. But how is he supposed to share a bed with you? This is not going to be beneficial towards his crush at all. It’s definitely not going to help him in his mission to get over you… he hadn’t started on that mission yet but he was definitely going to start soon… oh, he really shouldn’t have suggested this…

“All right, then,” he hums, and then squeezes his eyes shut as he winces. What the hell is he doing? Why are the words he’s speaking and the thoughts he’s having so out of sync?

You smile at him – one of the beautiful smiles that always sets his heart alight – and then move towards the bed. “Which side do you usually sleep on?”

“Closest to the door,” he says, starting to walk towards it.

“A man after my own heart,” you grin, voice teasing as you pull the sheets back to the other side of the bed and slip underneath them. “Can you get the lights?”

Bob tries his best to ignore your words, thinking about how he is actually after your heart, and slowly walks towards the light switch. He turns them off, then makes his way towards the bed in the dark. His heart is racing in his chest. It’s not until he’s sitting on the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, that he realises he’s sweating bullets.

He’d forgotten. How could he forget something like this? He’s always run hot. He’s been known to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, especially after a nightmare.

Maybe, once you’re asleep, he can slip out of the bed and go back to the bean bag without waking you up… surely that would be okay. He could make up some excuse in the morning about not being able to sleep in the bed…

“Everything all right?” You ask from beside him.

The room is so dark that he can’t see you to tell how far away from him you are, but your voice is close. He trusts that you’ve stuck to your word, though, and that you haven’t crept over to his side of the bed.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea actually.”

He hears the sheets rustling and can somehow tell that you’re sitting up now.

“Why not?”

Bob sighs and tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear. He doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed about this. It’s not like you don’t know. You were there in the vault. You heard him admit it to Yelena. You’ve seen so many parts of him that he hates and you’ve never judged him for any of them, so why would you judge him for this now?

“Hey,” your voice is gentle. “You can tell me. If you don’t want me here, I can go.”

“No,” Bob shakes his head, quick to respond. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re not welcome here when truthfully, all he wants is to have you here with him. He just wishes he wasn’t so awkward about it. “It’s not that. It’s just…”

“There’s no rush.”

He turns to look at where you’re sitting, his eyes now adjusted to the darkness so he can see you just barely. “I run hot,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if I sweat a lot during the night. I should just sleep on the floor by myself.”

There’s silence for a moment and Bob takes that as your answer. He swings his legs off the bed and is just about to stand up when he feels the mattress shift underneath him, and then he feels your warmth pressed against his side.

“Hey, no,” you hum, leaning your arm against his. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to worry about things like that with me. If you sleep on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor too. You’re not giving up your comforts for me.”

Bob turns to look at you through the darkness. “I’d just make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” you reach down and find his hand, entwining your fingers together. It’s true that the members of your team are bad when it comes to physical contact, but you don’t mind it. Bob’s always been a little concerned about touch ever since the incident that had happened a few months back but you can tell by the way he doesn’t tense up at your touch that he doesn’t mind it. You’re surprised to find you can actually feel him relax a little. “You won’t.”

“I won’t?”

“No,” you repeat. “I’m really glad you offered for me to share your room, Bob. I don’t care if you run so hot that the whole bed feels like a giant inferno. I’m not going to leave unless you ask me to.”

“I won’t. ”

You give his hand a squeeze. “Okay, so should we get back into bed and try and get some sleep then?”

Bob nods and then remembers it’s dark and you probably can’t see him. “Yeah, all right.”

He hates the feeling of emptiness when you let go of his hand. He can feel the mattress shifting as you move back to your side of the bed. It takes every part of him to swing his legs back up and to lay down. It’s only once his head hits the pillow that he feels truly relaxed. It’s strange, even just knowing that you’re right beside him puts him a little bit at ease.

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” You say, voice so close to him that he almost jumps.

“Okay,” he murmurs, staring up at the dark ceiling above him.

He’s so certain he’s going to wake up in the morning and all of this will have just been a dream. Not a good dream, not a bad dream. Just an unreal one. One where you hold his hand and sleep beside him. One where, as he’s drifting off to sleep he can feel the warmth of your body inches away. One where he can remember the feeling of your arm pressed against his with such clarity it almost feels real.

But when he wakes up in the morning, the first thing he sees is you sleeping soundly beside him and he knows it wasn’t a dream. A small smile makes its way onto his face. He can’t remember the last time he slept through the night without waking up… not until right now.

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #bob reynolds x you #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader

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celestial-kestrel · 2 years ago

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It's that time of year again where Mari Lwyd starts to be talked about and shared around and an INCREDIBLY misleading post gets shared a lot. As someone who grew up with Mari Lwyd I wanted to clear some things up.

Also hello, if you are unaware who Mari Lwyd is. This is about the Welsh tradition of the horse skull who visits houses during the Christmas to New Years period in Wales asking for alcohol.

First off and probably the most important one:

Mari Lwyd is not a cryptid!

I can not emphasise this enough. She. Is. Not. A. Cryptid. There is no story or mystery about a ghost or zombie horse roaming the Welsh valleys. She's not even supposed to be a ghost or a zombie. It's just a horse skull on a stick with a guy under a sheet. She's a hobbyhorse and a folk character used to tell Welsh stories and keep songs alive. When people spread the misinformation that she's a cryptid, it's the equivalent of saying Kermit the Frog is a cryptid.

She is actually only one character in a wider cast of characters who go door to door or, in more modern times, pub to pub. The cast of characters can change town to town and village to village but there are some common ones I see time and time again. The Leader, the Merryman, The Jester and The Lady are just some I see regularly. Punch and Judy used to be more popular a few years ago but I haven't seen them in a while as their tradition has mostly fallen out of popularity. In most cases, almost the whole cast will be played by men. Even the characters are considered and referred to as female. Though this again depends and varies by which group is partaking in the Mari Lwyd tradition.

This point also goes onto my second point,

Mari Lwyd does not rap.

I think this comes from a very common misunderstanding of what rap is vs spoken word. Rap is a very specific style of music originating from the African American communities of the USA and has it's own structure and motifs unique to it. It's a lot more complex than people give it credit for as a style of music and just flippantly assign anything similar to it as being rap. If someone is talking fast or reciting poetry, it is not rap. Or anything that is an exchange of words between two people is not a rap battle. Mari Lwyd does not do rap, actually something that gets left out of these posts is the fact Mari Lwyd does not even speak. It's actually the Leader, who does all the speaking and song based banter between the house/pub owner for entry. Mari Lwyd just clicks her mouth, bites people and bobs her head around.

I think Mari Lwyd is a really beautiful and unique part of Welsh culture. She's not actually as wildly celebrated as a lot of the posts make her out to be. Actually, I think most Welsh people themselves learn about Mari Lwyd through the internet as well. Her popularity is increasing thanks to the drive of local groups wanting to keep the traditions alive and a renewed desire to document Welsh traditions before they're gone. Which is why it's such a shame that she's turned into something she's not to earn horror points on the internet. I think this is why it bothers me so much to see the misunderstandings of the culture and the folk tradition. Mari Lwyd's origin is very hot debated as well as how long it's been going on for. But I think it's thanks to a lot of traditions like this that the Welsh language and our stories weren't lost forever. Welsh culture is recovering as is the language. But it's still in a very fragile place. I think it's why it's important to document and correct information when it's spread.

Anyway, if you want to see the tradition in action, here's a lovely video from the Cwmafan RFC going to one of the pubs for charity. It includes the song exchange with the pub owner for entry and the whole pub singing and joining in once Mari Lwyd and the rest are inside.

youtube

As well with another video from St Fagan's showcasing the more traditional and door to door form with the larger cast.

youtube

#Mari Lwyd #Wales #Welsh #Welsh culture #Youtube

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smutoperator · 10 days ago

Text

Paradise

Chou Tzuyu x Male Reader

Tags: addictive pussy, (a little) ass licking, car masturbation, "cock ring", concert, creampie, cum on thighs, facefucking, facesitting, footjob, lube, manager, mating press, no-hands blowjob, tan lines, thighjob, vibrator, visual, worshipping

Word count: 4097.

You had risen up the JYP rankings and managed to become the manager of one of their most coveted girls: the beautiful Taiwanese visual of Twice, Tzuyu. Your first assignment was going to be following her to the Coldplay concert where Twice would perform as the opening act.

Tzuyu was truly feeling herself on that stage, making some quite sexy moves as she performed to the big stadium crowd. You watched her at all times, her giving you a few winks from time to time as the performance went on.

After Tzuyu took a few pictures to post to her fans on Instagram, highlighting her beautiful red outfit, which she liked the most, she headed towards the car you were assigned to take her home. Her beauty was indeed otherworldly, and the more you looked at her, the more it felt like you were falling in love.

The journey towards Tzuyu's home went smoothly, and you were ready to park the car and open the door for her to get off until you heard a few wet noises come out from her side.

You looked at Tzuyu and saw her touching herself around her genital area. You were shocked such a shy beauty was so shameless to start masturbating in front of you. "What are you doing?" you ask her.

"Can't you see, manager oppa?" Tzuyu asked, keeping the pace of her masturbation. "Wanna see how wet I am?" she asks, pulling her panties to the side and showing you her pussy. You touch it, impressed by it being the prettiest pussy you've ever seen. "Wanna come inside, manager?" "I need someone to make me cum for the night," she continues.

Tzuyu takes the small vibrator out of her pussy, dropping some juices onto the car's seat. "I was feeling so good performing with this on," she says. "So that's why you were doing all those moves on stage?" you ask her. "Of course, manager oppa," she answers.

"Come inside, manager oppa," Tzuyu says, opening the car's door and guiding you upstairs into her house. "Look how wet that pussy is," she says, putting a couple of fingers inside it and tasting it while licking the vibrator.

Tzuyu opens the door of her bedroom for you. "I can make you cum without using my hands or my pussy," she says to you. "Wow, then show me," you tell her. "Lie on my bed," she commands. "This is the only time I'll use my hands," she continues, pulling your pants down and making your already hard cock promptly pop out.

"Are you ready for the no-hands challenge?" Tzuyu asks. She stays true to her words, impaling her pretty face straight on your hard pole. You're amazed by that view, one of the prettiest faces you've ever seen just getting stuffed full of your cock. She starts sucking it, making soft moaning sounds as she gets it deeper and deeper in her throat fairly easily.

"Oh shit, oh fuck," you moan, Tzuyu giving you an amazing no-hands blowjob. "Where did you learn those moves?" you ask her, hearing no answer as she stays focused on sucking your cock as hard as possible. You truly feel this could be paradise, that incredible Taiwanese beauty just shaking her mouth all over your cock nonstop, showing you how much she wanted something like this.

Tzuyu licks your shaft, her hands behind her back as she brags about getting your cock already throbbing hard. "Looks like it was very easy to get this big boy up," she says, taking it back in her mouth and getting her hair out of her face for you to get a better view of it sucking that big, fat cock. She takes it deep in her throat, getting sloppier as the blowjob goes on, her head-bobbing getting stronger and stronger.

You stay strong despite Tzuyu's incredible cock-sucking skill, telling her you never came from a blowjob before. "What else do you have?" You said you could make me cum without using your hands or pussy. I don't doubt it, but I think you'll need more," you tease her. "What else do I have? Well, let me show you, Manager Oppa," she answers.

"You know, manager oppa, the challenge was just using no hands or pussy, but I can use every other part of my body," she says, climbing up the bed after a few extra suckings and some worshipping of your balls. "Can you use your feet?" you ask her. "Of course," she says, bringing some lube and putting it on your cock as she wraps it between her soft yet a little sore feet after tonight's performance.

Tzuyu quickly picks up the pace, stroking your cock with her feet quite strongly. "I'll be so satisfied when I make you cum; that feels so good on my feet. I love watching your big cock sliding between them, manager oppa," she says, adding a little more lube to keep going with her strong massage. "Can you show me your tits?" you ask her. "Of course, manager oppa," Tzuyu answers, taking her top off and teasing you as she covers them at first before unveiling it.

The footjob continues for a couple more minutes, Tzuyu smiling as she enjoys the touch of your cock. Your cock hasn't been this hard in a while, and Tzuyu makes it even harder as she gets herself naked, playing with herself while stroking it, giving you the most amazing view of your life as she touches her pussy and lets out some soft moans out of her mouth.

"You like watching me playing with my pussy, manager oppa?" Tzuyu asks you, spreading her long legs for you to see. She keeps touching her clit and grabbing her cute boobs as she strokes your cock with her feet. You love seeing every inch of her tall, hot body, but the tan lines around her boobs and her crotch are what drive you crazy the most. "I know I can make you cum at any minute," she says. "And I'm gonna use my not-so-secret weapon to do it," she continues.

Tzuyu gets on top of you, crushing your cock with her thick thighs. You can quickly tell why she's earned the thighwanese nickname: the strength of her thighs squeezing your cock feels like your shaft just got smashed by a pair of 50-ton trucks. You can't resist and start humping your cock against them, fucking Tzuyu's amazing thighs the way you want to fuck her pussy, the bed creaking as you use all your strength trying to get past her meaty thighs.

You keep pushing as hard as you can, Tzuyu's honey thighs giving your cock no room to breathe. You grab her ass and keep pumping your cock between her thighs. "Oh, fuck," you groan. Your shaft rubs against Tzuyu's wet pussy, her thighs completely owning you. "Oh wow," you say as Tzuyu is now the one moving her body to meet your cock, pressing it right against her wet folds. You try to answer her moves by thrusting as hard as you can, but Tzuyu is relentless and meets your thrusts pound to pound.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum," you announce. These words coming out of your mouth only make Tzuyu push harder. "Cum for me, manager oppa," she commands, burying your shaft even further between her thighs. That makes you finally lose, pouring a waterfall of jizz all over her thick thighs. "Damn, I can't believe you made me cum like that," you tell her.

"Looks like I won the no-hands challenge," Tzuyu says with a big smile. You worship her like a goddess, cleaning the cum from her thighs with your tongue. "I'm just starting, manager oppa," she tells you. She promptly sits on your face, her tan lines around her pussy driving you crazy. "Worship me, manager oppa," she commands, you promptly obliging and eating her pussy out.

"Oh my God, yesss," Tzuyu moans as her pussy is all over your face. She spread her ass, enjoying your tongue all over her folds. "Fuck, you taste so good," you tell her. "Yes, my pussy tastes like paradise, manager oppa," she says. You can tell Tzuyu's pussy has some kind of magic effect on you, as your cock quickly gets hard again as you savor her honey juices.

"Damn, I've never eaten a pussy this good before," you tell Tzuyu, praising her gates of heaven and putting a pair of fingers circling her clit. "Thank you, Manager Oppa," Tzuyu says. "But are you ready to knock on my door?" she asks, spreading her long legs and guiding your cock inside her pussy, making it disappear between the tan line on her crotch.

"Oh my God," you groan as you enter Tzuyu's pussy. You thrust very slowly, enjoying watching her finger her clit. "You like that tight pussy, manager oppa?" she asks. "Yes, fuck, it's so tight," you say, very surprised. "And your cock feels so good inside it," she says.

"Fuck, that pussy is so hot," you tell Tzuyu, giving her tits a soft massage as you try to go deeper, but her tightness makes it really hard. "Looks like you need some more lube, manager oppa," she tells you, picking it up and pouring it on your cock.

"Stick that cock back in me, manager oppa, oh yes," Tzuyu says as she pushes it back in her pussy. "Fuck, you've got such an incredible pussy," you can't stop praising it. You finally manage to get deep inside her tall body. "YES, YES, YES," Tzuyu moans, her walls squeezing your cock as hard as possible. "Your pussy feels like paradise," you tell her.

"You should let me ride that big cock, manager oppa," Tzuyu says. "It's all yours," you tell her, lying on the bed. Tzuyu prepares it masterfully, sucking, stroking, and spitting on your cock as she gets ready to get on top of it, slapping it a couple times with her tongue for good measure as well. You start thrusting upward, fucking her pretty face as she takes your cock deep in her throat.

Tzuyu shares some kisses with you and rubs your shaft against her honey thighs as she prepares to spice things up. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you," she promises, stroking your cock a little bit more and enjoying edging you while kissing and smiling at you, stroking your cock hard to get it fully ready to jump on it, even rubbing it against the tan lines of her boobs.

"I'm gonna take every inch of it," Tzuyu says, adding some extra lube as she moves to sit on your cock. "Fuck, you're amazing," you tell her. Tzuyu keeps teasing you, licking your shaft a couple more times before her pretty mouth gets replaced by her wet folds grinding against your shaft, her tan lines. "Are you ready, manager oppa?" she asks. "Yes," you promptly answer her.

Tzuyu once again fulfills her promise, taking every inch of your cock inside her pussy. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard," she says just as she starts riding your cock, her soft moans as she starts very slow, adjusting to your massive length as she moves her baby-making hips. "Fuck yeah," she moans, a little out of breath after a tiring concert, but ready to ride it.

Tzuyu quickly finds the sweet spots inside her pussy, directing her bounces right at them. You look at her incredible body moving up and down your cock completely mesmerized, wondering how can a girl be so beautiful from head to toe like she is. Every part of her body is flawless: her pretty face, her cute boobs, her long torso, her pink pussy, her tanned skin, her long legs, and, best of all, her honey thighs.

"OH MY GOD, FUCK, AH, YEAH," Tzuyu moans as she tries to bounce as hard as she can, opening and closing her long legs in a very fast motion. "OH MY GOD, YES, YES, YES," she screams, her ass clapping against her hips. She slows down a bit, spinning on your cock and then pulling it out a bit to taste herself, sucking it like crazy and spitting all over your tip before some hard strokes and kissing you.

"Bounce harder," you tell Tzuyu, who promptly obliges and gives you the hardest possible ride. "You like my tight pussy wrapped all over your big cock, manager oppa?" she asks, not backing down and riding you like her life depended on it. "Oh wow, that's so fucking hot," you praise her.

Indeed, having sex with Tzuyu sometimes feels like the closest thing to fucking an actual goddess. "Oh, I love bouncing on this cock," she says to you. "It feels amazing when you bounce on it, baby," you tell her. Tzuyu slows down, taking a few long strokes up and down it, letting every inch sink inside her pink pussy. "Fuck, that's so hot," you tell her.

"I could ride this all night," Tzuyu says, fingering her clit and moaning harder. "OH MY GOD, FUCK YEAH," she screams. "OH FUCK, YES, YES, YES, I'M GONNA CUM," she announces, a couple of juices dripping down her pussy. "Come taste it, manager oppa," she says, grinding her folds in your face. You seize the opportunity of her riding your face again, tonguing her folds as hard as you can. "You want me to cum on your face, manager oppa?" Tzuyu asks. Of course you do, and hearing those words makes you push even harder.

"FUCKKKKK," Tzuyu moans as she squirts all over your face. You grab her legs, letting her thighs suffocate you as she closes them on your face and smashes it. You then grab her and pin her against the bed, sharing some passionate kisses with her. "I fucking love the way you fuck me," she says. You worship her body, licking her juicy pussy as she spreads it open for you. "OH FUCK," she moans.

"Sit on that cock, I want more," you tell Tzuyu. This time, she turns around, showing you her perfect ass as she goes back to bounce on your cock. "OH YES, YES, YES, YES," she moans. "I fucking love the way you ride it," you tell her, the tan lines on her butt driving you crazy. She glides along your cock at a leisurely pace. "Oh my God, that feels so fucking good," she says, spreading her ass and moaning.

"I feel so slutty riding my manager's cock," Tzuyu tells you. She spins a bit, squatting hard on your dick as her butt claps against your crotch. She grabs her ass, driving you even crazier. "Bet my tight, wet pussy feels amazing all over that cock," she says.

You can no longer resist the urge and start pumping up Tzuyu's pussy. "Please, don't stop, pound my tight little pussy," she begs, spreading her legs to take your hard thrusts. "OH MY GOD, YES, RIGHT THERE, FUCK YESSSS, FUCK BABY," she screams, reacting as she tries to regain control of the bounce. But you don't let her, just smashing your balls against her clit and pumping her like a piston. "OH FUCKKKKK," she screams, getting out of breath as you hammer her pussy nonstop, reaching from behind to finger her clit and making her legs tremble.

"YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME CUM ALL OVER YOUR COCK, FUCK," Tzuyu moans. "FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME PLEASE, JUST LIKE THAT, THAT'S WHAT I WANT, PLEASE, GIVE ME MORE, FUCK," she keeps screaming, you using her pussy as hard as possible, turning her into a fucktoy. "I'M GONNA CUM, I'M GONNA CUM," she announces, closing her eyes and opening her mouth as her pussy gets obliterated until she squirts and grinds all over your cock. You grab her tits as she pulls out. "Oh, I wanna taste it," she says, deepthroating your cock and taking all her juices from it.

"Fuck my face with that shiny cock," Tzuyu commands as you pump up her pretty face and pound her throat hard, making her gag, but not more as she makes you groan. "Oh my God," you groan as Tzuyu handles your cock like a champion, sharing some sloppy kisses after you're done. "I love that cock so fucking much," she says, kissing you and giving it more strokes. "Keep fucking my face," she commands, you promptly obliging as her face proves to be just as tight and heavenly as her pussy.

Tzuyu licks your tip and spits on your cock as she easily wins the challenge. "I want you to fuck me like a real man," she says. You push her hot body in your direction and hammer her pussy as hard as possible. "Fuck, my wet pussy is gonna keep cumming on that cock again and again," Tzuyu says, still managing to bounce hard even with her tall body tilted forward.

You pour some lube in Tzuyu's ass. "Yeah, get it shiny and wet," she says, whispering a few dirty words in your ear for good measure. "I love feeling every inch of that cock in my pussy," she says as you tease her with slow thrusts before going all in and pounding her hard, enjoying her pretty face moaning in front of you. "OH FUCK, YES, RIGHT THERE," Tzuyu screams as she gets her cheeks clapped hard. You grab her ass and push her against your shaft. "Yes, make me bounce up and down on that cock until I cum again," she commands.

"YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, MAKE ME CUM ON THAT COCK," Tzuyu commands as you grab her waist and push her even further down. "FUCKKKKK," she screams, giving your cock a little attempt at twerking like she learned from Mina. You put a couple of fingers in her asshole and massage it before pounding her pussy hard. "DON'T FUCKING STOP, RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, HARDER, HARDER, HARDER, OH FUCK," she screams, her body shaking as you take her breath away and make her reach another juicy orgasm.

You come to a stop to admire Tzuyu's pretty face, letting her slowly move on your cock while you massage her asshole. She pulls out and starts stroking your cock again, licking it from balls to tip and spitting on it. "So fucking good," you tell her. She picks up her bracelet and wraps it around your cock, using it like a cock ring and trapping all the blood that rushed to your head to keep your cock throbbing as hard as possible.

But soon, it doesn't take long for Tzuyu to be ready for more. "Bend me over," Tzuyu says as she gets herself on all fours in bed. You dive between her cheeks and tongue her asshole. "Oh yes, work that tongue in my ass," she tells you, reaching to finger her pussy as she shakes her butt in your face. "Oh yeah," she moans.

"Are you gonna give it to me, manager oppa?" "Yes, please, give it to me, I want more," Tzuyu begs as you grab her waist and insert your cock back in her pussy. "Oh, fuck yeah," she moans as you take it slow, looking at her pretty moaning face all the way down in the bed as you thrust deep inside her pussy. You grab her ass and look at her beautiful back, especially her tan line as she spreads her cheeks open.

"I'm such a good slut for Manager Oppa," Tzuyu says as she just lets you take every inch of your cock in her pussy. "Keep it open," you command, Tzuyu giving you a few winks with her asshole. "OH YES," she screams. You add some extra lube to your cock, her pussy looking tighter than ever. "You feel so good inside me, manager oppa," she says, moving her body in your direction. You quickly grab her butt and take back control, still going slow as her pussy squeezes your cock.

"Fuck me hard and deep, manager oppa," Tzuyu begs. You do as she asks, pushing your cock as hard as possible. "Please, give it to me hard, make me cum," she begs. "MORE, MORE, MORE, OH YES, RIGHT THERE," she starts screaming just as police sirens also scream down the street. But Tzuyu manages to be even louder than them.

"OH FUCK YES, PLEASE, I WANNA CUM ON THAT COCK AGAIN, OH MY GOD, FUCK," Tzuyu screams as you make her tits jiggle hard. "DON'T STOP, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE," she continues to beg, putting her face down and ass up like a perfect slut. You two feel a little tired, you slowing down while Tzuyu reaches to finger her very wet pussy. "Fuck this pussy, manager oppa, make it yours; I want more," she begs, moving her hips in your direction.

You pound Tzuyu hard. "OH MY GOD, YES, I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING, DON'T FUCKING STOP," she screams, coating her bedsheets with her juices. "FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME OH SHITTTT," she keeps screaming. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," she continues to scream as you hit hard and deep all the way into her cervix. You put her in a spooning position. "Oh yes, give me all that fucking cock," she commands, you pumping her pussy so hard to the point it slides out of it. "Put it back, put it back," Tzuyu commands, you slowing down to admire her beauty and look at her sexy tan lines as your cock slides in and out of her pussy.

"Right fucking there, don't stop," Tzuyu commands as you keep pounding her. "Don't fucking slow down, take that pussy, please," she begs. You suck her tits as they jiggle like pinballs with your hard thrusts. "YES, YES, YES, FUCK, OHHHH FUCKKK, YES, YES, YES," she screams, rolling her eyes as you grab her trembling legs.

"I fucking love what your cock does to me, manager oppa," Tzuyu says, rubbing her pussy. "I want you to fill my tight pussy up with that cock, every fucking inch; that's what I like," she says. Her words motivate you even if you are almost getting close to falling asleep. "YES, JUST FUCKING USE MY PUSSY WITH YOUR COCK, FUCK, PLEASE DON'T STOP, MAKE ME CUM SO HARD, FUCKKKK," she screams, you taking Tzuyu's hot body and making it yours. "YES, YES, YES," she keeps screaming, moving her hips against your cock.

"Where should I cum?" you ask Tzuyu, giving her some hot kisses. "Deep in my pussy," Tzuyu says. You know there is only one way this could go: putting her in the perfect position to creampie the maknae as you spread her long legs and put her in a mating press position. "USE THAT PUSSY TO MAKE YOU CUM, USE THAT PUSSY TO MAKE YOU CUM, GIVE IT ALL TO ME, BREED MY FUCKING PUSSY, MANAGER OPPA," Tzuyu screams, driving you crazy.

Tzuyu puts her legs up and just lets you take over. You thrust hard and deep in her pussy. "OH MY GOD, PLEASE, FILL ME UP," she begs you, spreading her legs wide open as you look into her pretty face. You pound her pussy balls deep, getting closer and closer at each second. "Cum inside me, manager oppa, please, cum inside me," she begs you.

You drain your balls in Tzuyu's pussy, your cum dripping into her honey thighs as you pull out of her tight pussy. Tzuyu spreads her pussy for you to show you the massive load you gave her. You two are so exhausted that both of you fall asleep shortly after sharing some kisses.

You wake up the next morning, Tzuyu still asleep after a hard night of performing and fucking. You look at her beautiful naked body and stroke your cock to it, eventually unable to control yourself and waking her up with a big load right in her pretty face.

"Wow, manager oppa, you're so sweet, already waking me up with milk for breakfast," she says, tasting your cum.

"Crap, we are late to work," you tell Tzuyu.

"What work?" Tzuyu asks. "I need to bring you back to practice at JYP," you tell her.

"No, it's my day off; the only work you'll be doing will be right here," she tells you.

Tzuyu reaches into a drawer to the side of her bed and grabs a butt plug. She tosses the blanket down, gets herself on all fours, and shoves it up her asshole.

"Are you ready to fuck me in the ass today, manager oppa?"

#tzuyu smut #twice smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #male reader smut

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geminiwritten · 4 months ago

Text

cowboy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: the squad are sick of you and hangman pining after each other, so they set you up with the cowboy hat rule - 'you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy' (i know it's never specified but because glen grew up in texas, i'm applying that to jake)

notes: i am literally posting this while at work because i am so excited! i'm actually pretty proud of this one right now, so i'm trying not to second guess it and keep rereading it... i really hope y'all enjoy! please let me know all your thoughts! (in case you can't tell, i'm currently reading elsie silver's books)

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption / drunkenness, mention of a student/teacher relationship, and general horniness but no actual smut (i'm sorry, it's already so long)

word count: 10667

You roll your lips as your eyes wander across the faces of your friends, each of them expressing varying degrees of excitement as they discuss the upcoming celebration for Javy’s birthday this weekend. It’s been a good week for the dagger squad, and even Maverick has managed not to piss off the admiral in almost five whole days. Everyone is holding their breath, praying he can hold off for the second half of the day so the team doesn’t get punished with weekend rotation... again.

You’re sitting in the middle of the long table with Natasha to your left and Bradley to your right, and across from you is the most gorgeous man on the planet. You can’t help settling your gaze on him, tracing the bridge of his nose as he faces Javy beside him, lips moving as words spill from them, but you can't possibly know what he’s saying because you’re too busy picturing what else those lips would be good at. His Adam’s apple bobs between statements and his tongue occasionally darts across those lips, making your innocent Friday lunch feel a lot filthier as your thoughts wander in the most inappropriate way.

An elbow nudging into your ribs knocks you off your bullet train of thought, derailing it at high speed as reality comes crashing down and you turn accusingly toward Bradley. “What?” you snap.

He chuckles, “You’re drooling.”

Your hand flies up to your mouth, fingers padding at each corner only to find the skin dry. You scowl at him, “Asshole.”

He has to hide his increased laughter in the mouth of his water bottle, taking a long sip so to not draw the attention of the rest of the group. “Sorry,” he says as he places the bottle back on the table, “but you were about to. I was saving you from yourself.”

You roll your eyes, “Whatever.”

Bradley shakes his head, his amused grin fading as he drops his gaze back to the tray of food in front of him, and a tiny pebble of guilt drops in the pit of your stomach. You suddenly feel bad for snapping at your best friend, so you bump your shoulder against his and reach over to steal a fry from his tray.

He shoots you a glare from the corner of his eye, but the smirk on his lips tells you that he isn’t really mad. You pop the fry into your mouth and chew it with a smile before turning your attention back to the group, startling when you find a pair of green eyes already trained on you. Heat flushes up your neck, colouring your cheeks as you stare back at the man you had just previously been ogling. Time seems to slow down, or speed up, you’re not sure, but what you do know is how pretty Jake’s eyes are, swirling shades of green with flecks of gold that glow in the afternoon sunlight flooding through the high cafeteria windows.

“Hangman?” Javy clicks his fingers in front of Jake’s face, simultaneously snapping you both out of whatever trance you’d been stuck in.

When you look around the table, you notice that most of the group are standing now, holding their empty trays and getting ready to return to work.

Jake blinks a few times, a slight frown creasing between his brows. “What?” he snaps.

Javy chuckles, holding one hand up in surrender. “Calm down, I was just asking what time we should get to your place tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” Jake’s shoulders visibly relax, “1800.”

You roll your eyes playfully as you push up from your chair. “Okay soldier, you can just say 6PM.”

His face breaks into a breathtaking grin as he stands and picks his tray up from the table. “Sorry civilian, I’ll see you at 6PM tomorrow night.”

Low laughter rumbles through the group as you take an extra moment to appreciate the gorgeous man smiling at you, but then Javy tugs on Jake’s arm and interrupts you both for the second time less than a minutes. “Come on man, Mav will be pissed if we’re late.”

“Wait for me?” Bradley asks.

You turn to your best friend and find him looking at you – asking you – rather than his squadmates. “Huh?”

He raises one judgemental brow, a teasing smirk on his lips. “After work, wait for me so I can give you a lift home.”

“Oh,” you nod, “duh, I’m not walking.”

His eyes flash toward Jake’s retreating form before he looks back at you with a grin. “Would you at least try to control yourself? Jesus, it’s so obvious.”

“Oh, shut up,” you frown at him. “Hurry up or Mav will have your ass.”

He stacks his tray on top of yours in your hands and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You’re so sweet to me,” he jokes, before turning on his heel and jogging after the others.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time as you watch him leave, meeting Jake at the exit door leading to the main hangars. Just as they both disappear, you can swear Jake throws an angry glance over his shoulder at you, but the door swings shut before you can be sure.

That glare haunts you on your journey back to the control tower. Had you really seen what you think you saw? Jake had just been grinning at you, joking with you, but then somewhere on his way across the cafeteria he had found a reason to glare at you. It doesn’t make sense.

You try to push the image of his angry face out of your mind as you sit back at your desk, one of eight situated on the fourth floor of the main control tower. Three screens stare back at you, displaying various windows of information about the sky’s conditions and other operational statuses from around the base. You slide your headset on and adjust the dials until you can hear a soft crackle indicating successful connection to the correct frequency. One by one, you watch the faces and callsigns of your friends pop up on the right-most screen as they turn their comms on and ready their jets.

“Maverick to control,” Mav’s voice comes through your headset.

“Good afternoon, Maverick,” you reply, as if you hadn’t already been on the comms with him for half the day.

“Radio check before take-off please, aviators,” he says, “alphabetical order if you geniuses can figure it out.”

You roll your lips to keep from laughing, reminding yourself that despite your personal connection to these people, this is still your job.

“Bob to control, can you hear me?”

“Lound and clear,” you respond, quickly trying to figure out the alphabetical order for yourself.

“Coyote to control.”

“Copy.”

“Fanboy to control.”

“Copy,” you repeat.

“Hangman to control,” Jake says, his voice in your ear sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“Copy,” you reply.

The line then goes quiet, a faint crackling the only indication that the radio hasn’t completely dropped out. You wait a beat before speaking again, “Radio check please Payback.”

“Shit, sorry. Copy,” Reuben’s voice responds. “I thought Phoenix was before me.”

“A comes before H, idiot,” Natasha says, followed by a chorus of snickers. “Phoenix to control, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Phoenix,” you reply through your laughter.

“Rooster to control,” Bradley’s voice fills your ears, “your favourite pilot here, bringing up the rear.”

You roll your eyes, “Copy that, Shakespeare.”

Another rumble of laughter comes through your headset as you quickly type into the afternoon’s log that the radio check was successful.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mav says as the laughter dies down. “Control, are we good for take-off?”

“Skies are clear, Mav,” you reply, “take off at will.”

You tune out the soft chatter as the squad ready themselves for taking off, and one by one watch their altitudes rise on your middle screen. They all pop up as red dots on the radar window, blinking slowly as they cruise through what you know is a cloudy afternoon sky.

“We’ve got a stormfront coming in from the south,” you say, eyes darting to your left-most screen. “We might need to call it a little early this afternoon, Mav.”

Maverick chuckles, “An early mark on a Friday? I don’t know if this lot deserve it.”

A series of protests then fill your ears, almost every pilot falling for Maverick’s taunt and arguing that they do deserve an early mark, even going as far as to say that they’ve had a hard week. You’ve been here all week too, and you probably couldn’t agree with that since this week has been one of the cruisiest in a while.

“Alright, alright,” Mav says to quell the bickering, “if you can perfectly execute the cloak and dagger drill, I’ll let you all land by 1500.”

The complaining turns into cheering, and Bradley threatens the team to perform because he’s not staying back in a storm on a Friday afternoon. Not that Mav could keep them in the skies if the weather gets that bad.

“Listen up,” Maverick says, “Coyote, I’ll be your wingman, and I want Phoenix and Bob behind us. Hangman, Rooster will be your wingman-”

“I’ve been trying, Mav,” Bradley interrupts, his voice dripping with cheek, “but the man is oblivious.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, blocking your airways as you suffocate on the audacity of your best friend. The laughter from your headset sounds distant as you try to remember how to breathe, willing yourself to calm down. Afterall, no one could really know what he’s talking about, right?

“Yes, Rooster,” Maverick chuckles, “we’re all aware of how oblivious Hangman is.”

Your eyes grow wide.

“What are you talking about?” Jake pipes up, and you can almost see the adorable and confused look on his face. His brows pinched together, a little crease between them, and his bottom lip pushed forward in a small pout.

“Point and case,” Bradley says, at which the rest of the squad dissolve into giggles.

Does everyone know about your crush? Is Jake really the only confused pilot right now?

“I don’t get the joke,” Mickey says over the laughter.

You can’t help the smile that cracks across your face, a breathy laugh leaving your lips as you try to focus on documenting the weather warning in your afternoon log. The team continue to giggle, turning their teasing on Mickey before Maverick orders them to focus. They run the drill perfectly, finishing up just before an orange alert pops up on your screen, a notification from the weather analysis team telling you to get the squad on the ground.

“Maverick,” you say, “the storm is coming in fast; you’ve been ordered to land.”

“Copy that,” he responds, before rattling off instructions to the squad.

One by one, you watch their blinking dots on the radar screen approach the runway and land. They manoeuvre toward the hangar, following instructions from the ground team to store the jets for the weekend. You exchange a couple of last words with Mav before they all remove their helmets and start the end of day procedures. You take time to check your emails and send the day’s log to the data analysis team before doing all your usual sign offs. By the time you’re exiting the control tower, it’s almost 4PM.

You pull your phone out of your back pocket, about to text Bradley asking which lot he parked in today when his Ford Bronco skids to a halt three feet in front of you. He leans across the passenger seat and pops the door open with a grin. “Need a ride?”

You roll your eyes, taking two long strides forward and throwing your bag into the back seat before flopping into the passenger seat beside him. “That was quick,” you state. “Doesn’t the debrief usually take longer on Fridays?”

Bradley shrugs, “The admiral left early today so we didn’t have to do a formal debrief, and maintenance are doing a fuel flush on all the jets this weekend so they took them off our hands pretty quick.”

“Oh, nice,” you reply simply before turning your attention back to your phone, checking the notifications you missed during work.

Bradley navigates the base easily, slowing to a stop at the exit gates and having a short chat with the security guard in the booth before the boomgate rises and he hits the gas again. When the car merges onto the main highway, you tuck your phone under your thigh, not wanting to risk motion sickness with Bradley’s driving. Let’s just say, he’s a much better pilot than he is a chauffeur.

“So,” he says, glancing at you with a cheeky grin, “do you want to hear something interesting.”

You sigh, recognising that look. “Who were you eavesdropping on today?”

“I heard Hangman talking to Coyote before I left,” he explains, eyes sparkling with mischief, “and I heard Coyote say to ‘stop making excuses and just ask her out’.”

You frown, trying to tamp down the green-eyed monster rumbling to life in your stomach. “Ask who out?”

“I didn’t hear a name, but I’m assuming-”

“Don’t say me.”

He chuckles, “Not me, you.”

You scowl at him, “Don’t argue with me about semantics.”

He rolls his eyes, “I just don’t understand why you won’t believe me. You heard the whole squad before, everyone knows except Hangman, even Mav!”

“Mickey doesn’t know,” you argue.

“Fanboy is almost as oblivious as your boyfriend.”

Your eyes narrow, “Do not use that word.”

He laughs again, “Which one?”

“You know which one.”

He sighs heavily, as if the weight of your unrequited crush was pressing down on his shoulders too. “Look, if you’re going to be stubborn, I’m going to have to take things into my own hands.”

“Please don’t,” you beg, your eyes growing wide.

He shrugs and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, but you’re giving me no choice.”

“Bradley, please,” you plead, turning in your seat to face him, “just leave it alone. I don’t want to ruin the friendship and make it uncomfortable for the whole group.”

“The whole group already is uncomfortable with you two constantly eye-fucking each other!”

Heat creeps up your neck, turning your cheeks pink and making your ears burn. You want to protest and continue arguing with him, because you’re adamant that Jake does not return your feelings, but your brain can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together. Instead, you sink down in your seat and scowl at the road, wondering what you could possibly be in store for if Bradley really is taking matters into his own hands.

The rest of the drive home isn’t long, and soon enough, Bradley is pulling the Bronco into his parking spot in the garage of the apartment block you both live in. You don’t live together, but you do live in neighbouring studio apartments, so it often feels like you live together. You drive to and from work together, you usually have dinner together and watch movies together in the evenings. Basically, if you’re both not busy, you’re with each other, and it’s been that way as long as you’ve both been based on North Island.

The squad had initially teased that the two of you might be more than friends, they even had you questioning it, but one wine-drunk kiss while watching The Bachelor confirmed that neither of you felt anything romantic toward the other. It was that same night that you also confessed to Bradley that you might be falling for Jake, to which he looked at you like you were stupid because duh. Apparently, your crush has been obvious from day one.

Now, here you are, hopelessly in love with a man you not only work with, but you’d also consider one of your closest friends. Rock, meet Hard Place, and you? You’re in the middle.

After spending the night on the couch with Bradley and a box of pizza, you took yourself off to bed and dreamed one of the many reoccurring dreams you have about a certain fighter pilot. You managed to sleep in before taking yourself for a long walk and making a mental list of all the things you needed to do before Javy’s birthday party.

Jake had been generous enough to offer having the party at his place, since the squad wanted to do something other than go to The Hard Deck for once. You'd offered to help shop for supplies and set up for the night, but Jake and Javy assured the group that they had it all under control. All you have to do is waste your Saturday and quell your nerves before the party.

At exactly 5:45PM, there’s a knock at your door. You quickly finish applying your lip balm before tucking it into the purse hanging from your shoulder and grabbing the jacket you’d thrown over the back of the lounge. You yank your front door open to find your best friend grinning from ear to ear, his moustache looking particularly fresh.

“You shaved,” you state, stepping forward and forcing him to step back.

He nods before asking, “Did you?”

You finish locking the door, slipping the key into your purse with one hand while the other slaps Bradley’s bicep. “Don’t be creepy!”

He chuckles and rubs his arm. “I’m not being creepy, I’m just making sure you’re prepared for any outcome.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “What are you planning?”

"Nothing in particular,” he replies innocently, though the small smirk on his lips betrays him.

You decide to leave it, since you're already nervous enough, and focus on relaxing the butterflies flapping wildly in your stomach. Bradley decided earlier that he would drive to Jake’s, since it’s hardly ten minutes from where you live, and leave his car in favour of getting an Uber home. Jake had said that anyone who wanted to crash was more than welcome to, but the thought of sleeping at his place only invigorates those nervous butterflies.

“Stop,” Bradley says, one hand leaving the steering wheel to grab your bouncing knee. “Why are you so nervous?”

You shrug, opting instead to wring your hands in your lap. “I don’t know, I just am.”

“You see these people every single day,” he points out, “what’s so nerve-wracking about tonight?”

You sigh, refusing to look at him as you reply, “I’m just feeling a little weird about going to Jake’s apartment.”

His brows shoot up toward his hairline, and you can tell by the way he rolls his lips that he’s holding back laughter. Your cheeks burn, and you have to hide your face in your hands.

“I’m not going to make fun of you,” he says quickly, “I actually think it’s a bit cute.”

You drop your hands, turning to him with a frown. “What? Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder, “I don’t know. It’s cute that you’re nervous to see where you’ll be living once the two of you finally fuck and get marr- ow!”

You cut him off my smacking his arm, the same one as before, harder. “Would you stop being such a pain?!” you exclaim as the car comes to a halt. “You’re supposed to be my best friend; you’re supposed to comfort me, not make my face all red and blotchy right before we go inside.”

He finally lets his laughter win, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles into his closed fist. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not trying to be a dick, it just comes so naturally.”

You roll your eyes and pop open the passenger door, throwing him a glare over your shoulder. “I know.”

He manages to keep his thoughts to himself while the two of you cross the lobby and ride the elevator up to the fourth floor. This apartment block is shorter than yours, but wider. It’s one of the most coveted locations for naval personnel based on North Island, being the closest two- and three-bedroom apartments to the base. Jake had lucked out when he snagged one of these apartments with another lieutenant, and he’d lucked out even harder when that lieutenant got relocated and he ended up having the apartment to himself.

The sound of Bradley’s knuckles against the hardwood door knocks you back to reality, and you find yourself standing in front of apartment 4B.

“Who is it?” Natasha’s voice calls from the other side of the door.

“Stripper,” Bradley calls back.

“Finally,” the door wooshes open and you watch the liquid in Natasha’s red cup slosh dangerously. “We’ve been waiting all night.”

Bradley winks at her as he strides into the apartment, but before you can follow, Natasha blocks your path. “You need to pay the entry fee,” she says, offering you the red cup.

You frown, “Why me and not him?”

“Because it’ll calm your nerves.”

You catch Bradley smirking over his shoulder, and you scowl at him, wishing you could telepathically punch him for texting Natasha in advance, warning her of your anxiousness.

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the cup and tipping it to your lips.

You drain the cup, ignoring the burn that slides all the way down to your stomach. When you tip your head back to look at Natasha, she’s grinning. “Now you may enter,” she says, stepping aside.

There are a few more people than just the dagger squad in the apartment. You recognised most of them, but you decide that it’s not important enough for you to go around the room introducing yourself to the ones you don’t know the way Bradley is. Outgoing motherfucker. Instead, you beeline for the kitchen where Bob is on the phone reading out an extensive list of pizza orders. He offers you a quick smile before returning his attention to the list.

There’s a makeshift cocktail station set up beside the sink, with an array of alcohol bottles sat on the passthrough window bench. Your gaze drifts past the bottles and into the lounge room where everyone is gathered, landing easily on Jake who is animatedly retelling something to two men you recognise as Fritz and Yale. You’ve never been so charmed by someone in your life, it’s almost laughable the way this man captivates you. You can’t look away from the bright grin on his face, the tiny crease between his brows, and the excitement in his pretty green eyes.

“Hey,” Bob says, startling you out of your trance.

You can feel heat blooming in your cheeks as you turn to face him, leaning your left hip against the countertop. “Hey.”

“Drink?” he asks, a small but knowing smile tipping the corner of his mouth up.

You nod quickly, “Please.”

You chat idly while Bob fixes you both a cocktail that you don’t recognise, not that you’re much of a connoisseur when it comes to bartending, and you’re pretty sure he sneaks an extra shot into yours. Either way, the drink he hands you tastes delicious and fruity, and you’re feeling a little less nervous as you both join the group in the living room. A couple of Javy’s friends who you don’t know have already parted from the dagger squad, starting a foosball competition while the rest of you find somewhere to sit around the coffee table.

“Okay,” Bradley says to the group, “let’s play a little warm up game.”

“Yes!” Mickey exclaims as he settles into a beanbag. “I’m so down.”

Javy chuckles, “Alright, what are we playing?”

“Never Have I Ever,” Bradley replies, his lips curled into an evil smirk.

Your heart stutters, forgetting its usual rhythm before jumping into an erratic beat. You tip your drink to your lips, almost draining the whole thing, and when you finally look back at your best friend across the coffee table, he winks. This is his plan.

“But instead of just putting a finger down,” Natasha says, making you realise that she is in on it too, “you have to take a sip of your drink.”

“Does everyone have a drink?” Bradley asks.

You watch as a few of your friends drain the dregs of their current drinks before getting up to retrieve fresh ones, and you sigh, tipping the last of your cocktail into your mouth. You might as well get drunk with them.

When Bob returns to his seat beside you, he hands you a bottle of blue liquid. “Thought you might need this.”

You smile gratefully, “You’re the best.”

Once everyone is settled again, Bradley and Natasha take turns going over the rules of the high school game, even though it’s not that complicated.

“Oh, one last thing,” Bradley says, eyes trained on you, “nothing is off limits, and if you lie, you finish your drink.”

“How will we know if someone’s lying?” Reuben asks.

“I think there’s enough of us here that know each other well enough to spot a lie,” Natasha replies with a smirk.

Well, fuck.

“I’ll start,” Bradley announces. “Never have I ever slept with someone else in the navy.”

Jake, Javy, Mickey, Reuben, Natasha, and Harvard – who you only know by his callsign – all groan and take a sip of their drinks. Your eyes widen and you turn to Natasha on your right. “Excuse me, why did I not know about this?”

She rolls her eyes, “It was ages ago.”

“Damn, Phoenix,” Reuben says with a smirk, “didn’t think you were a rule breaker.”

“Technically,” Natasha bites back, “it’s not a rule, just frowned upon.”

Laughter rolls through the group before Bradley turns to Jake on his left. “You’re up, Hangman.”

Jake clears his throat as he sits up straighter and surveys the group, lingering on you for a moment longer than the rest. “Okay,” he says, “never have I ever had a secret relationship.”

There’s a beat of silence, a few people’s brows creasing in confusion as everyone stares at Jake.

“That’s a weird one,” Natasha states, though you can see in her eyes that she’s trying to figure out the hidden meaning to Jake’s declaration.

“Well, anyway,” Javy says, chuckling as he tips his beer to his lips.

The rest of the group takes a moment to think before both Bradley and Mickey also take a sip of their drinks. You watch Jake’s eyes widen slightly as he watches Bradley drink, then his gaze darts toward you, as if waiting for you to take a sip too. When you don’t, his shoulders seem to relax.

“Oh, my God,” Natasha whispers so softly that only you can hear, and when you turn to look at her, you find her eyes focused on Jake.

You feel yourself splitting in two, torn between asking Natasha what her revelation is or demanding to know what this secret relationship of Bradley’s was. You decide to go with the less nerve-inducing option.

“Excuse me, Bradley,” you speak across the group, “what was this secret relationship?”

He chuckles, “It was in high school.”

“Oh,” Reuben wriggles his eyebrows and nudges Bradley’s side, “were you a junior and she was a senior?”

Bradley snorts, “Actually, I was a senior and she was a teacher.”

Javy chokes on his second mouthful of beer, and the group suddenly erupts into laughter and questions while Bradley sits there like a king. You join in the laughter and use the commotion to slide your gaze toward Jake, heat rising in your cheeks when you find his eyes already fixed on you. He smirks, and you’re pretty sure your stomach does a triple somersault.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Bradley says. “I know I’m a legend. Now, let’s get on with it.”

Beside Jake, the man you only know as Harvard announces that he has never skinny dipped, at which everyone but Bob takes a sip of their drink. Next is Fritz, who declares that he has never had sex in the shower, and everyone in the group drinks. Your heart starts to race again as Natasha wriggles beside you, clearly excited about it being her turn next.

“Let me think,” she says, rolling her lips as she pauses to think for a moment.

You feel her brief gaze from the corner of her eye, and heat prickles the back of your neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Never have I ever,” she begins, her brown eyes glowing with mischief, “had sexual fantasies about someone else in this group.”

Your breath catches on its way out, lodging in your throat as you once again forget how to breathe. You can feel your pulse across every inch of your skin, your heart thudding so hard against your ribs you worry it might break free. You can’t lie. You know you can’t lie, because Bradley is giving you a very pointed glare from across the group and Natasha has turned her whole body to face you.

“Fine,” you mutter into the bottle as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up.

You hear Javy's laughter above everyone else’s hoots and hollers, and when you look back at the group, you catch the tail end of Jake taking a sip from his drink. Natasha giggles beside you, subtly nudging your side with her elbow.

Bradley’s eyes are trained on you, and he opens his mouth to no doubt say something taunting when Reuben lifts his drink to his lips, and Bradley turns to him in shock. “You too?!” he exclaims.

Mickey has dissolved into fits of laughter, curling over and holding his stomach.

“It was an accident,” Reuben justifies, the colour of his cheeks growing deeper, “I had one dream.”

“About who?” Jake demands, his frown more accusatory than curious.

Reuben shakes his head, “That is nobody’s business but mine.”

The laughter slowly dies down, and you silently thank any god that might be listening for the distraction before Bradley or Natasha could embarrass you further.

“Okay, my turn,” you say, quickly moving the game along. “Never have I ever piloted a jet.”

The smirk on your lips is incredibly proud, and half the group groans while the other half chuckles as every single one of them tip their drinks to their lips. It was a cheap shot, but you had to distract from all the sex stuff before you spontaneously combusted.

“Alright, Bob,” Bradley says, looking at the man to your left, “what have you got for us?”

Bob clears his throat, a small smile curling his lips. “Never have I ever worn a bra.”

Both you and Natasha roll your eyes and take a swig of your drinks, and across the group so does Bradley. You stare at him wide eyed as a stupid grin stretches across your face.

“Oh, I have got to hear this story,” Natasha says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

Bradley tries to shrug nonchalantly, but you can see blood seeping into his cheeks, turning them red. “Alright, as if none of you have tried a bra on before,” he says, eyeing the men around the circle.

Everyone bursts into fits of laughter, holding their stomachs or their chests as they fold over and start mocking your best friend. You almost feel bad for him, watching him try to defend himself, but then you remember that he started this game to out your crush and any trace of empathy you had is quickly wiped clean.

“Okay, everyone shut up,” Javy says over the giggling and teasing, “it’s the birthday boy’s turn.”

The noise dies down, and only then do you realise that the group of Javy’s friends by the foosball table are now watching the game of Never Have I Ever as if it’s some enthralling reality TV show.

“Never have I ever,” Javy says slowly, his eyes locked on Jake directly across the circle, “been too chickenshit to ask someone out even though I’m clearly obsessed with them.”

Your heart stutters again, unable to discern the difference between being held at gunpoint and playing a stupid game mostly likely created by high school students. You tip your drink to your lips, not missing the fact that Jake does too, and certainly not missing the way Bradley’s eyes widen and snap toward you. Mickey and Fritz also drink, but to your immense relief, the rest of the group hold off on the teasing for this round.

“Okay, um,” Mickey taps a finger on his chin as he stares into space, “never have I ever ridden a horse.”

Beside him, Reuben frowns, “What?”

Mickey shrugs, “I was looking at the horse.” He gestures toward the narrow bookshelf beside the television cabinet, adorned with a few books, photo frames, and knickknacks. On the very middle shelf is a golden trophy with a little figurine of a cowboy riding a horse, his rope poised in the air mid-lasso.

Reuben turns his quizzical frown toward Jake. “Why do you have a horse trophy?”

Jake’s cheeks are pink, either from embarrassment or alcohol, you can’t tell, but Javy speaks before he can reply. “Didn’t you know baby Hangman was a part of Austin’s champion junior penning team?”

Mickey tilts his head like a confused dog. “What’s penning?”

“It’s a ranching thing,” Jake replies, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’re in a team of three on horseback, and you have to separate cattle. There’re all these other rules too, but that’s the basis of it.”

Your chest aches at the sight of Jake Seresin actually looking shy. You’ve never seen this man with less confidence than a stag in mating season, and that mixed with the imagery of a young Jake working on his family’s ranch; well, your heart is just about ready to burst.

Bradley chuckles, “I always forget that you’re a cowboy.”

“Can take the boy out of Texas,” Javy says with a southern twang, “but can’t take Texas out of the boy.”

Jake rolls his eyes playfully and rumples up his empty red cup before tossing it across the circle at his best friend. From what you can gather, Jake and Javy have known each other far longer than just the past few years, and you’re always pleasantly surprised when either of them comes out with historic pieces of information about the other.

“Alright, one more and we’re playing a new game,” Bradley announces, turning his attention to Reuben who is the last to go before it’s back to the beginning.

“Never have I ever,” Reuben says with a cheeky smile, “owned a cowboy hat.”

The group dissolves into another fit of laughter, and you see Natasha and Fritz sip their drinks from the corner of your eye, but everyone’s attention has turned to Jake.

He rolls his eyes again and pushes to his feet. “You people are relentless!” he exclaims, his tone laced with amusement. “I finished my drink anyway, so suck on that.”

Renewed laughter rumbles through the room as Jake storms off down the short hallway, disappearing into a room you can’t see from your position on the lounge. Half the group make their way toward the kitchen to refresh their drinks, while the other half continue joking about Jake’s cowboy ancestry.

You turn your attention back to the bookshelf where the trophy is, letting your eyes wander over all the pieces of Jake that are displayed on the shelves. You hadn’t noticed before, but a lot of the decor in the apartment gives subtle nod to his upbringing. Everything is washed in warm browns and oranges with rich wood furniture, photos of horses and farmland, and trinkets reminiscent of a life on the ranch. He has more than one trophy, you note, and there are a quite a few photos of a young, smiley boy standing proudly beside the same chestnut horse. Your chest squeezes again, reminding you just how enamoured you are with this man.

“Drink?” Bob asks for the second time tonight, offering a different coloured cocktail than earlier.

You nod, “Thank you.”

“Pizza is almost here,” he says, looking at both you and Natasha. “Would you help me go down to the lobby and pick it up?”

You both agree and let the rest of the group know where you’re going before heading out of the apartment door. The pizza guy meets you in the lobby barely a minute after you step out of the lift. Bob pays with cash, and you all stack your arms with boxes of delicious smelling pizza before stepping back into the lift and riding it up to level four.

You can hear commotion the second the elevator doors part, and it gets louder the closer you get to Jake’s apartment. The three of you exchange dubious looks before Bob shifts the boxes in his arms to free one hand and knock on the door. It swings open almost immediately, and you can now very clearly hear some unrecognisable country song blaring while everyone hoots and cheers.

Fritz, who opened the door, takes some of the boxes and calls for more help. As soon as your arms are free, you turn to see what all the fuss is about, your jaw dropping open the second your eyes land on the two men in the middle of the living space.

Jake and Javy are arm in arm, jumping in circles and doing what you assume is supposed to be some country jig. It’s uncoordinated and they’re both laughing so hard they can barely breathe, but it’s not the dancing that has the butterflies in your stomach whirring to life. Atop Jake’s head is a brown cowboy hat. It’s simple and a little worn, the exact same colour as the horse in the photos with young Jake.

Holy fucking shit, does that man look good in a cowboy hat.

You’ve never really considered yourself as having a ‘type’, but right now you couldn’t be more sure that this man is your type. The only person on planet earth that is your type. You can’t help the way your lips are pulled into a grin so wide it hurts, and the fast, uneven thud of your heart against your ribcage, threatening to crack bone.

“Are you okay?” Bradley asks, startling you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

You sigh, feeling the pull in your gut that tugs toward the man in the cowboy hat. “No,” you reply, leaning into him, “I’m not okay.”

His chest vibrates with laughter as you hide your face in it, keeping your arms slack by your side as you pretend to sob into your best friend’s shirt. His other arm wraps around you and his laughter doubles, one arm squeezing you tight while the other hand rubs circles on your back. Despite how much of an asshole he can be, you know that Bradley is always there for you when you need him.

You pull out of his embrace when the music dies down and Bob announces that its dinner time. Your eyes easily find the cowboy, watching him walk toward the dining table where all the boxes of pizza are laid open.

“Look at him,” you whisper-shout to Bradley. “Fucking look at him! Don’t you just want to lick-”

“Nope,” Bradley interrupts before you can even finish. “I definitely do not want to lick any part of that man.”

You roll your eyes playfully as he guides you toward the table of pizza. He hands you a plate and you start stacking a few slices on it despite your nervous stomach’s protests. When you glance across at Jake, his piercing eyes are already on you – like they so often seem to be of late – but he doesn’t look nearly as joyous as he had moments earlier. There’s a crease between his brows and tension in his jaw as he chews.

Natasha pops up beside you and starts babbling about what game you should all play next. She’s always a chatty drunk, not at all annoying, but definitely more vocal than usual after a few drinks. You listen to her and Bradley squabble about games before Javy pipes in, declaring that it is his birthday so he should get to decide.

After everyone has eaten their fill, Jake and Reuben pack away the leftover pizza while Bob and Mickey start making a round of cocktails. Meanwhile, Javy announces that he would like everyone to do a shot, which is when three of his mates who you have guessed are not navy make their exit.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Javy mutters, lining up all the mismatched shot glasses on the kitchen counter. “How many do we need?”

You look at Jake, who is standing beside you and craning his neck to count the heads in the room. “Why do you have so many shot glasses?” you ask him.

He pauses for a beat before chuckling and shaking his head. “You made me lose count.”

When he looks down at you, it feels like your lungs constrict, forgetting once again how to do their one job. Your chest aches in the most deliciously painful way, because that ache radiates all the way down to the apex of your thighs. You don't just want this man, you need him.

“I used to like to collect shot glasses,” he finally replies. “I’d try to get one in every city I visited but after about ten, I kept forgetting.”

“We need eleven,” Javy announces, obviously having counted the room while Jake answered your question.

“We’re one short then,” Jake states.

You shrug, your inebriated brain quickly diving into devious thoughts. “Someone could do a body shot off me.”

Every head in a two-foot radius snaps toward you. Jake’s eyes are blown wide, and a huge grin is pulling Javy’s mouth across his face. Bob looks shocked and Mickey looks amused, but Bradley is almost glowing with pride.

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time, “I’m joking, guys. Calm down.”

Jake’s shoulders sag as if he’s disappointed, but he huffs a short laugh out before picking up one of the bottles to start pouring liquid into the line of shot glasses. “I’ll go last,” he says, looking at Javy. “I’ll just use your glass.”

At Javy’s request, everyone gathers around and picks a shot, clinking them together and spilling drops of amber liquid on the floor before tipping them up to their lips. It burns all the way down and sizzles angrily in your stomach. Sweat prickles the back of your neck as heat breaks out across every inch of your skin. You’re well on your way to being drunk, so you take advantage of the cheering to slip back into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. If anything, it might save your head tomorrow.

Twenty minutes later, everyone has a full drink and a seat somewhere around the coffee table. Javy decided that it’s time for another game, and despite protests, he said that he has picked one and there will be no negotiations. You find yourself comfortably between Bradley and Natasha, trying not to ogle at the gorgeous man across the circle. He is no longer wearing his cowboy hat, having taken it off just before doing his shot, hanging it on the back of one of the dining chairs.

“Alright, what are we in for?” Bradley asks Javy.

Javy grins, “Truth or Dare.”

There’s a mixture of cheers and groans, but everyone ends up giggling with each other since the whole group is very happily tipsy by now.

“Okay, okay,” Natasha calls over the laughter, “what rules are we playing?”

Javy and Natasha negotiate the rules of the game, deciding not to move the game in a circle but from player to player; whoever gets asked ‘truth or dare’ then gets to choose the next victim. You glance quickly toward Fritz, Harvard, and Yale, the three you don’t hang out with all that much, and wonder if they’ll ever get a turn.

“And if you don’t want to answer the truth or do the dare,” Natasha says, “then you have to drink.”

Everyone nods in agreeance before Jake announces from beside Javy, “Birthday boy goes first.”

Javy’s eyes scan the circle before settling on Bradley. “Rooster,” he says, “truth or dare?”

“We’ll start of lightly,” Bradley states. “Truth.”

“Is it true that you and Y/N are just friends?”

Your eyes widen and you immediately inch away from your friend, leaning into a giggling Natasha.

“Yes!” Bradley exclaims. “It couldn’t be truer! Are you kidding me?”

Laughter rumbles through the group, everyone but Jake finding Bradley’s disgust rather amusing.

Javy chuckles, “Just checking! You two are pretty cosy.”

You scoff, “He’s like my brother.”

“Alright,” Javy raises both hands in surrender, “I won’t ever question it again.”

“Good,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

Bradley clears his throat and the snickering dies down. He looks straight at Jake, “Hangman, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Jake replies.

“Is it true that you’re totally hung up on someone right now?”

Jakes cheeks turn bright pink and he immediately covers his face with his hand, hiding his sheepish smile. He sighs, “Yes, that is true.”

Your stomach twists itself into a knot, threatening to eject everything you’ve consumed in the past few hours. The rest of the group start giggling again, teasing Jake and making stupid oohing noises as the poor man places his beer on the coffee table to bury his face in both hands.

“Okay,” he chuckles, swatting at Javy as he makes kissy noises, “that’s enough.”

Once everyone manages to mostly compose themselves, Jake asks Bob truth or dare. Bob chooses dare, which lands him in Bradley’s lap for the next ten minutes. Bob then asks Natasha truth or dare, and she picks truth, deciding to drink instead of admitting who she finds the most attractive in the room. You have a feeling Bob might already know the answer to that, which is why she flips him the bird before asking Mickey truth or dare. He picks dare, of course, and has to do a shot of straight vodka.

After he’s finished coughing and hacking, he returns to his spot between Bradley and Yale, turning his attention to you. “Y/N,” he says with an evil grin, “truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you respond.

“Earlier tonight, you told Bradley that you wanted to lick someone; who were you talking about?”

Your heart leaps into your throat, beating erratically as it tries to crawl up and jump right out of your mouth. Bradley bursts into a fit of laughter beside you, and Natasha coughs on the sip of drink she had just taken. You clear your throat before lifting your own drink to your lips, taking a purposeful sip and rolling your lips together.

Mickey whines, “You’re no fun!”

You scowl at him, “You were eavesdropping!”

His grin turns sheepish. “Technically, I overheard.”

You roll your eyes and let the laughter subside before scanning the circle, wondering who you could pick that might keep you safe in return. Your eyes land on Jake and you have to roll your lips again to keep from smiling. Sure, you could dare him to make out with you, but you’d rather not force yourself on him, so you settle your gaze on the man beside him, Reuben.

“Payback, truth or dare?”

His face lights up, “Dare.”

“I dare you to give your WSO a big kiss on the lips,” you say with a grin.

Mickey snorts, “You think we haven’t kissed before?”

“Dude!” Reuben exclaims across the group as everyone loses it to laughter once again.

Mickey giggles as he crawls into the middle of the circle and meets Reuben, who rolls his eyes before grabbing either side of Mickey’s head and mashing their lips together. It’s very brief, but it has the group hooting and hollering like high schoolers as the two blushing boys return to their respective spots.

Reuben shoots you a scowl, “I’ll get you back for that.”

You give him a wink before tipping your drink to your lips, realising that it’s empty. You push yourself to stand, “Drinks?”

You and Bradley work on taking the empties from the group and retrieving fresh drinks for everyone while they start asking questions about Reuben and Mickey’s first kiss. When you settle back into your seat, you see Reuben crouched beside Javy as they whisper into each other's ears, their eyes watching you carefully and their lips curling into evil little smirks.

Well shit.

Once everyone is settled again, Reuben looks toward Javy. “Coyote, truth or dare?”

“Hm,” Javy pretends to think, “dare.”

“I dare you to prank call Maverick.”

Everyone oohs as Javy pulls his phone out, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face. He switches off his caller ID before finding Maverick’s contact, and the group falls silent at the first dial tone. It rings and rings, but Mav doesn’t answer, so when his voicemail requests a message, Javy puts on his gruffest voice. “Maverick, it’s Admiral Simpson. I’ve had a few drinks, and I know this isn’t appropriate, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”

He hangs up and wheezes with laughter. Everyone is folded over, some wiping tears from their eyes, because right now, Maverick’s inevitable scolding doesn’t seem to be a worry.

It takes a little longer for everyone to calm down, but once they do, Javy’s eyes narrow on you. “Y/N,” he says, “truth or dare?”

“Me again?” you ask. “I just had a turn.”

He simply shrugs, awaiting your answer.

You sigh, “Fine, dare.”

You played right into his hand, and you know it by the way his lips have split into a Cheshire Cat grin.

“I dare you,” he says slowly, eyes moving past you and across the room, “to put Seresin’s cowboy hat on.”

You frown, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. It’s too simple. “What?”

Javy nods toward the hat in the dining room. “Put the cowboy hat on.”

“Coyote,” Jake warns, his voice low.

“It’s just a hat,” you say, pushing off the couch and waving a hand dismissively.

You walk quickly across the living space toward the dining table, taking the hat off the back of the chair and plonking it on your head. When you turn back around, Jake’s mouth pops open, Javy and Reuben giggle, and Mickey and Natasha look like they’ve just realised what the stupid joke is.

“Oh, I get it!” Mickey announces proudly.

You frown at him, “Get what?”

He glances at Reuben, who makes the action of zipping his lips. Mickey turns back to you, “Sorry, I can’t say.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Fanboy, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says.

“What’s the big joke about the hat?”

“The hat rule,” he replies simply, as if it’s obvious.

“What hat rule?”

“The cowboy hat rule, you know-”

“Nope!” Javy exclaims. “Technically, he answered the question, you can’t get another answer.”

You huff, “Okay, whatever. Play your little games.”

You lean back and cross your arms, the hat still propped on your head. Across the circle, Jake’s eyes are trained on you, and there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips. He looks mildly amused by whatever the joke is that you don’t get, but he also looks a little like he might be enjoying the way the hat is sitting on your head. The alcohol rushing through your veins gives you the courage to hold his stare as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth before pulling it back out slowly. His eyes drop to your mouth, lingering there before he swallows thickly and looks away.

When you tune back into the game, you realise that Fritz is now asking Bradley truth or dare. You’re not sure what you missed, but you’re guessing it was one or two uneventful turns.

“Dare,” Bradley says.

“I dare you to walk out onto the balcony and make some weird, loud sex noises.”

Bradley springs up, excitedly jogging toward the balcony doors, throwing them open and starting to honk and moan the second he steps outside.

Jake chuckles into his hands. “You guys do realise that I still have to live here after tonight?”

“OOH, FUCK YEAH!” Bradley shouts, at which everyone’s laughter doubles.

Natasha nudges you, “Is this what you have to hear whenever he has a girl over?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you say with a dramatic sigh.

Another few seconds pass of Bradley’s terrible sex noises before Jake calls him back inside. He sits back down beside you with a satisfied grin, his cheeks bright pink and eyes sparkling. He turns his attention to Jake. “Hangman, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Bradley clears his throat and casts you a quick glance before looking back at Jake. “What is the cowboy hat rule?”’

Javy and Reuben start to giggle again, and Jake sighs, looking incredibly sheepish as he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s uh- well,” he sighs, “you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

Your jaw goes slack and your mouth pops open, heart thundering in your chest. Bradley cackles beside you and Natasha snickers on your other side. The thought crosses your mind that if these people keep laughing so hard, they might explode.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Javy says to you before turning to look at Jake. “Now the two of you can fuck and relieve us all of this stifling sexual tension.”

Neither you nor Jake can muster a laugh. You simply stare at each other, thoughts racing as you wonder why Javy would do this. Is what he said true? Does Jake actually like you the way Bradley has always said? Is the tension between the two of you that obvious?

Eventually, the game rolls on, and neither you nor Jake get asked again. Truth or Dare somehow morphs into Would You Rather, and soon Bradley is standing beside you offering another round of drinks to the group. You stand up beside him and rush into the kitchen, dying for a moment away from Jake’s piercing gaze. It’s not that you don’t like him looking at you, you just wish you knew what it meant.

“You good?” Bradley asks as he steps into the kitchen after you.

You nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Still got the hat on,” he notes, pointing at your head.

You quickly take it off and plonk it on the kitchen counter before reaching up to the passthrough shutters and swinging them closed. No one seems to notice, and the small amount of privacy seems to help settle the butterfly disco currently happening in your stomach.

Bradley rummages through the fridge while you pour yourself a glass of water, sipping it slowly and watching him juggle as many bottles as he can between his two hands. He raises his brows at you before he leaves, a silent question, and you nod, assuring him that you’re fine. He disappears around the corner right before Jake steps into the kitchen, making your heart leap dramatically.

“Hey,” he says, seeming much more relaxed than you’re currently feeling.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

You nod again, “Of course.”

“Coyote can be a little insensitive sometimes,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

You shrug. “I’m tough. It was just a joke.”

He frowns. “Which part do you think was a joke?”

“The hat rule,” you reply, “right?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “yeah, I mean, that is a known rule but I’m not going to-” he hesitates, “I mean, I would never- oh, my God, this isn’t coming out right.”

“It’s fine,” you say, dropping your gaze to your feet. “I know they were just having a laugh.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that either,” he adds frantically. He steps forward, leaving very little space between your bodies. “What I’m trying to say,” he says slowly, “is that I definitely would do that with you, but not if you didn’t want to.”

You look up, startled. “Would what?”

He chuckles awkwardly, the pink in his cheeks turning red. “Let you ride me, if you wanted.”

Looking up at his pretty green eyes is making your head spin, but you feel surprisingly stable. Something about his gaze is holding you steady, reassuring you the way a hug from your best friend does, and you quickly realise that this is the closest you’ve ever been able to stare into his eyes. They’re even more amazing up close.

“You’re very pretty,” you blurt out, internally cursing all that liquid courage.

He chuckles again, but its deep and breathy. “Thank you, but I’m nothing compared to you.”

You frown now. “You don’t think your pretty?”

“Well,” he shrugs, “I know I’m a little pretty.”

You roll your eyes playfully.

“But you are possibly the prettiest thing on this planet,” he adds, cupping your jaw in his hands.

The contact lights your skin on fire, and your heart is practically vibrating in your chest.

“Who’s the girl that you’re in love with?” you ask, once again unable to control that brain to mouth communication.

He chuckles again, his eyes darting away from your face and finding the hat on the bench. He reaches past you, his breath fanning across your neck as he picks the hat up off the counter and plonks it on your head.

“I’m in love with the girl wearing my old cowboy hat,” he says, hands holding either side of the brim as he adjusts the hat to sit perfectly.

You don’t even wait for him to finish fixing the hat before you surge up onto your toes, pressing your lips to his. He responds immediately, hands abandoning the hat to find your hips and hold your body tightly against his. You’re almost positive you can feel his heart beating where your chests are pressed together, and it’s almost as erratic as yours.

His lips move against yours gently, but there’s urgency in the way he holds your body, like you might disappear if he doesn’t hang on tight. Your own hands are gripping the hem of his shirt, fisting the material until you can feel your nails digging little half-moons into your palms. Maybe you feel the same, like if you don’t hold on, he’ll disappear, because you’re almost positive you’ve had this dream before.

He pulls back for air, keeping his forehead pressed against yours as his hands drop to the crease beneath your bum. In one swift movement, he lifts you onto the counter and stands between your open legs, the buckle of his belt pressing deliciously against the crotch of your jeans. You squeeze your knees around his hips and tilt your head back, letting his tongue slide past your lips. You sigh against his mouth, every ounce of tension from the past few hours leaching out of your body as his hands explore and squeeze your thighs.

“You have no idea”- he speaks breathily against your lips -“how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

You pull back, staring up at his puffy lips and lust-blown eyes. “Why did you wait, then?”

He chuckles and relaxes, the buckle of his belt no longer pressed against you. “Have you seen the way you and Rooster act?” he asks. “You’re practically inseparable, always having your little inside jokes, and you basically live together. How was I supposed to know you wanted me when all you do is look at him?”

You gnaw at your bottom lip, willing your foggy brain to sober up and try to picture things the way Jake would be seeing them. “I guess,” you say, resting your hands on his chest, “but I only look at him to avoid staring at you all the time.”

He tilts his head, a quizzical frown set between his brows. “Really?”

You nod. “And most of our inside jokes are about the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

His frown melts into a grin. “Hopelessly?”

“More or less.”

“More, I hope,” he murmurs as he leans forward again.

Your lips have barely touched when a bang startles you both. Jake holds you against his chest as you look over your shoulder to see the passthrough shutters blown wide open. Your friends are all gathered in the opening with stupid grins on their faces and laughter bubbling from their lips.

“I knew it!” Javy exclaims.

“That’s all it fucking took?” Bradley asks, his brows almost raised to his hairline.

“If I knew that, I would have put a cowboy hat on you ages ago,” Natasha says with an eye roll.

“Yeah, okay,” Jake says, his smile wide and cheeks bright red, “that’s enough from you lot.”

He reaches around you to grab the passthrough shutters and swing them closed, despite the shouts and protests of your friends. When his eyes find yours again, you feel like the only two people in the world. The noise from the living room fades away and the only thing you can feel is his warmth, his body.

“Where were we?” he murmurs, holding your face in his hands as he dips toward you again.

A sudden spike of panic slices through you, and you pull back with wide eyes. “Wait.”

His smile fades, worry creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not just saying and doing all this because you’re drunk, right?”

The concern on his face dissolves just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced again by that dopey grin. “Baby, I’m not drunk. You are a bit drunk.”

You frown indignantly. “I am not drunk, I’m tipsy.”

“Okay, tipsy,” he chuckles. “Are you only kissing me because you’ve had a few drinks?”

You shake your head fervidly. “No. I’m kissing you now because sober me didn't have the balls to.”

He laughs again, a little harder. “Are you saying that you’re not going to kiss me again tomorrow?”

“Oh, I’m definitely not saying that,” you reply. The corner of your lips lift into a smirk as your eyes fall to his puffy pink lips. “You’ve opened the flood gates now. I’m going to have to put my lips on every inch of your body.”

When your eyes find his again, the pretty green of his irises is almost completely consumed by black, lust-blown pupils. “I’ll be right back,” he says, untangling his limbs from yours.

You hold on to the waistband of his jeans, not letting him move too far from you. “What are you doing?”

“Kicking everyone out so we can get to all the kissing and the licking,” he replies, as if it was obvious.

A soft giggle slips from your lips and you tug on his jeans, pulling him back into your arms. “As much as I love that idea, we should probably get back to celebrating Coyote’s birthday. We’ve got all day tomorrow to kiss and lick and suck and fuck.”

His jaw slackens and a soft groan rumbles from the back of his throat. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not at all,” you reply with a cheeky grin. “Come on, let’s get back out there before they decide to come back in here.”

He sighs heavily as you slide off the counter, but before you can exit the kitchen, his hand wraps around your wrist. “We’re going to have to wait a minute,” he says, looking down at his pants.

You glance down to see a bulge in the dark blue denim at his crotch, the zipper almost straining against the pressure from the inside of his pants. You roll your lips to keep your giggles at bay, and to stop yourself from begging him to fuck you right here in the kitchen regardless of who can hear.

As if on cue, Bradley’s voice resonates from the living room, “You two better not be fucking in there! My beer is getting low and I will be getting another one no matter how traumatising it might be!”

END.

#top gun #jake seresin #hangman #glen powell #imagine #oneshot #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #glen powell x reader #miles teller #rooster #maverick #top gun maverick

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 29 days ago

Text

PAIRING | Robert “Bob” Reynolds x f!Reader

TAGS/WARNINGS | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy/nudity, Bob’s sadness and self-deprecating thoughts.

SUMMARY | Four times Bob lets his true feelings for you go unaddressed, and the one time he doesn’t.

WORD COUNT | 3.3k

NOTES | You know, I was actually gonna take a break from writing (again, I know, I’m sorry) but I somehow managed to bang this out today at work so here you go, my first ever Bob fic 🫶🏻 Happy Wednesday!

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ NAVIGATION | | BOB REYNOLDS M.LIST ˚⋆｡˚ ⋆

I do not do taglists. Please follow my sideblog @ficsbyjane for notifications whenever I post.

✧.* Truth Be Told

The first time he touches you, he does it almost without hesitation.

Normally, Bob makes a point to keep a respectable distance. He doesn’t touch anyone or anything without the most careful of considerations first—even though he wants it, craves it.

But when you’re this close, when you’re leaning into him instead of away, when you’re looking at him like he’s just Bob and not the same guy who almost let the Void inside him swallow New York whole, his hands can’t help but ache for you.

He’s restless with it, his palms itching as though something was missing. He wants to know what your skin would feel like under his fingertips, whether your eyelashes would flutter under his touch, and if you’d sigh just the way he would whenever he imagined closing the distance between you.

So before he knows it, Bob’s already reaching for you.

His heart leaps to his throat the moment he makes contact, turning his hand over, using the blade of his finger to brush away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth.

You look up from your plate, the box of pastries you’d bought for the entire team as an early afternoon pick-me-up still laying open on the table, your eyes widening a fraction when they meet his.

“You’ve got a little bit of…” he trails off, not really caring or even knowing what it is. Bob’s never had much of a sweet tooth, but right now, you smell like almonds and raspberry jam and a touch of something that’s uniquely you… and he suddenly wants nothing more than to taste.

“Oh,” is all you say, staying still as he lets his hand linger instead, his knuckles brushing along the curve of your jaw. You smile, your eyes softening, and for a fraction of a second Bob swears you lean into his touch. “Thanks, Bob.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice or the temptation of your name on his lips, before very reluctantly breaking the connection. His fingers are already twitching with the need to touch you again by the time he puts it back down onto the dining table.

And although you never talk about it, there is an easing of invisible barriers after that. Now that he’s had a taste, Bob can no longer resist the warmth of your skin against his—no matter how chaste or innocent the contact is.

“You’ve got an eyelash,” he’d say, pointing to his own face, his lips twitching with the fib, and you’d simply lean forward at the same time he did, allowing him to swipe the tip of his finger down your cheek. Trusting, unsuspecting, and oblivious to the yearning expanding like a balloon in his chest.

What if, one day, he could lean in just like this and let his lips find their way to yours?

Impossible, but a man could dream.

But sometimes there isn’t anything there at all, but he still dips slightly at the waist, beckoning you with his hand before removing the imaginary thing from your cheek, your nose, or the aching perfection that is your cupid’s bow.

And when you smile up at him expectantly, even when Yelena catches him in his little white lies one day, lifting a skeptical brow when she meets his eye over your head, Bob just carries on.

Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it.

—

The first time he ever holds your hand is on a Thursday.

It’s unseasonably cold for the time of year, and Bob’s shivering under his sweater. You have been sent out on an errand to restock the Tower with food and supplies, and Bucky insisted that Bob go with you.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out there,” Bucky said to you, slapping a hand down onto Bob’s shoulder before turning towards him, “Right?”

“Right,” Bob mumbled, feeling his cheeks going red because evidently his feelings were written all over his face, and now even Bucky, of all people, was taking it upon himself to nudge things along.

“Plus Bob can help carry your bags,” Yelena joined in, not looking up from the game of Scrabble she was playing with Alexei. “Dad, that is not a word!”

“Says who?” He said, gesturing to the gibberish he’d placed on the board, full of X’s, M’s, C’s, and V’s, but not a single vowel in sight.

Ava scoffed, her face scrunching up in both confusion and annoyance. “She can take care of herself. Just last week she kicked John’s ass—”

But then John nudged her, maybe a little too hard, almost sending her tumbling out of her chair. She glared up at him, before she caught the meaningful look on his face.

“Oh… yeah… erm, nighttime in New York is practically the Purge. Might as well take him with you.”

You gave them all looks of thinly veiled suspicion, but then you just shook your head and turned to Bob as you were winding a scarf around your neck. Smiling, you asked him, “Do you mind, Bob?”

As if he would.

Venturing outdoors is still rather daunting, which is probably another reason why the team’s been so eager to get him out of the Tower. The thought that someone might recognize him makes him sweat, despite the mid-morning chill.

And then the two of you approach a particularly crowded spot on the sidewalk, and Bob’s footsteps falter slightly. You stop as if you sense his hesitation, turning to him just before disappearing into the throng of New Yorkers. As naturally as breathing, you hold out a hand.

“Come on,” you prompt with a shake of your hand when he just stares for a few seconds.

Bob holds on quickly before you can change your mind. You tug him along, squeezing his hand tighter as you reach the thick of the crowd. Bob emerges on the other side of it with pink cheeks that should be almost numb from the biting wind, but instead they are warm with something else.

And even as the horde dissipates, the sidewalk opening up with more than enough space for the two of you to walk side by side, you don’t let go.

He catches your reflections in the glass windows of the nearby shops, you with your head turned away to admire the displays of a flower shop, but your hands still joined together.

Bob wonders what others think you are to him.

He wants them to know you’re special.

He hopes you know, too.

—

The first time he falls asleep next to you starts with him sitting in the dark of his room, his shoulders slumping a little further forward with each passing minute. The others have left on another mission without him, and Bob just wishes he could do something to help.

But he still can’t control his powers well enough yet; it’d be too dangerous for him to be out in the field with them. He understands this better than anyone—the last time he tried tapping into full extent of his Sentry powers, he almost murdered somebody (even if Alexei would argue that that person, Valentina, had deserved it), that god-like sense of superiority leeching ominously into his mind.

He is hopeful when Yelena says he’s improving, slowly but surely, tries to believe it when Bucky tells him that it will happen soon. He just needs a little more time.

But Bob can’t help but feel like a burden, someone they have to take care of rather than a part of the team. The voice in the back of his mind comes back, a few notes lower than his own, that slight taunting lilt of it latching onto the edges of his subconscious.

You’re worthless, Bobby.

You think they care about you?

You will always be alone.

It will always be just you and me.

He doesn’t know how long he's sat there like that, but the room remains dark now even though someone draws the curtains. Bob shrinks back, as though the beam of moonlight spreading across his lap hurts him, doesn’t even look up when someone calls his name.

“Bob?”

He sighs, closes his eyes against the habitual burn of shame, that familiar heat creeping up his neck. Because he’s never wanted you to see him like this—so sad, so pathetic, wallowing in his own self-pity.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask carefully, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse when he hears you kneeling on the carpet in front of him.

He shakes his head.

“Okay,” you tell him gently, patiently, so kindly, “do you want me to leave?”

Please don’t. Don’t ever leave me alone, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just shakes his head again. Despite himself, he’s somehow relieved when he feels the mattress dip slightly next to him, the warmth of your thigh dangerously close to his.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees in the periphery of his vision is your hand, lying face up on your lap. It’s an invitation that’s too sweet for him to deny, and he slides his hand into yours, watching with a strange mixture of disbelief and euphoria as your fingers close around him.

That you would still want to touch him after seeing him like this. That he would find such comfort in the simple meeting of your palms.

His chin lifts when you turn, your other hand coming up to tuck a curtain of his hair behind his ear.

“Is this okay?” You whisper.

Bob nods, and for one treacherous moment he lets himself believe that you unconsciously seek him out too, that your hands itch to touch him just as his own do for you. And then you’re gathering him into your arms, and he follows without hesitation, falling into your embrace and burying his face into your shoulder.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep but when he wakes, you’re still there.

“Hi,” you breathe, as though afraid you’ll disturb this peace if you speak any louder. Bob doesn’t tell you that he thinks he’ll only find peace if you’re around.

“Hi,” he whispers back, a smile lifting his lips as though you’re breathing life back into him. “Thank you.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Anytime.”

—

The first time you undress in front of him is, well, it’s not like that.

Because the entire time, Bob is furious. He wants to break something, feels the frustration crowding his lungs and resists the urge to just scream it out.

The whole team had frozen when he appeared in the doorway when they got home, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of you. One of your arms was slung around Ava’s shoulders as she propped you up, and your other hand was pressed gingerly to your ribcage.

There was a bruise blooming along your temple. Your lip had split in two places, and there was dried blood along your hairline. He could smell fresh blood in the air, even though he couldn’t see any open wounds.

John took a step toward him, one hand up in what seemed to be a placating gesture. “She’s okay, Bobby.”

“Okay?” Bob asked shakily, “she can barely stand.”

“She made it home alive, that’s all that matters,” Yelena reminded him, and while it was somewhat reassuring, it did little to quell the fire in his throat.

“She just needs to rest now,” Bucky told him, inhaling sharply when Bob’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked like his teeth might crack under the pressure.

“I’ll be fine, Bob,” you said quickly, smiling at him through your pain.

That was somehow worse than your physical injuries. Bob wanted to know then and there who did this to you, because he would unleash the full and unrestrained wrath of his powers if it meant avenging you, consequences be damned.

For the first time, he wanted to see something burn.

Ava cursed under her breath when Bob’s eyes flashed gold, but then you were asking him, “Help me to my room?”

Just like that, his eyes returned to their natural blue, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

And now, as he stands in your room, his hands are shaking as he pulls a clean set of clothes from your dresser. You limp toward the en-suite bathroom, leaning one hand on the counter and breathing deeply through your nose as you try to peel off your soiled tact-suit.

The second you let out a hiss of pain when the movement tugs at your stitches, Bob is at your side in an instant. He pushes down the panic clawing at his throat, the one that won’t quite settle down even though you’re right here, alive and breathing.

But he can spiral later; you need him now.

Bob gently, so gently, brushes your hand away so he can reach for your zipper. You make eye contact with him in the mirror, nodding, and he swallows the lump in his throat as he slowly helps you out of your bloody clothes.

“I’m going to be fine, okay?” You repeat and he just nods, his hands skimming over your shoulder blades, down your arms, as he helps you undress. His breath hitches as your suit falls into a heap around your feet, when he finds the square of gauze taped over your midsection with a spot of dreaded crimson seeping through. There’s a matching one on your opposite side. “It was a through and through. Missed all vital organs, the doctor said. It’s basically a flesh wound.”

“I should have been there,” Bob finally says when he finds his voice.

“Hey…” you turn to face him, “this happens. It’s part of the job.”

“I can help,” he almost pleads. He presses your hand to the side of his face, trying to hide the sting of tears. “If I’d been there, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. None of you ever would.”

He hates it, that feeling of helplessness as he’s forced to stay behind in the Tower. But what he hates even more is the thought that one day, you or Yelena or any one of the team could die out there—and he’d be here, safe and sound even though he was the strongest out of all of you, twiddling his thumbs waiting for you to come back.

“Don’t say I’m not ready,” Bob bites back a sob as he drops his forehead to your bare shoulder, “I’m ready. I’ll always be ready to protect you.”

He’s just found you.

He can’t lose you now.

“I know,” you turn around and your eyes shining just as brightly as his are. “And we’ll protect you, too. I promise.”

Bob’s never doubted you before.

He won’t doubt you now, either.

—

The team never leaves Bob behind after that, and when he first tells you what’s in his heart, it’s a quiet, almost unassuming thing.

He hadn’t intended to, although he’s always wanted to.

He wanted to tell you when you all boarded the jet, full of nervous but cautiously optimistic energy now that Bob was with you. He found his spot next to you, ignoring John’s teasing quip and Alexei’s beaming smile, his arm pressed to yours on the armrest between your seats.

He wanted to tell you just before stepping off the plane, when you gave him a reassuring smile and a confident nod, like you were saying you’ve got this. He wanted to call it after you as you rushed into the fray, weapons raised and ready, the others following closely behind you.

He wanted to tell you when he stepped in front of you, absorbing the impact of a bullet aimed straight at your forehead. It bounced harmlessly off him with a high-pitched ping, didn’t even leave a single dent or red mark on his skin, but you still gasped behind him and cried out his name.

But he couldn’t think straight in that moment, could only think about eliminating anything and anyone who’d try to take you from him.

He wanted to tell it to you on the plane ride home, when you brushed his hair back to double and triple check the spot where he’d been hit, undeterred by the splatters of someone else’s blood on his suit.

Bob thought about the man it belonged to. He hadn’t set out to kill anybody, but if that was the price he had to pay to keep you alive… well then, he’d pay it again and again.

“It didn’t hurt at all?” You asked. “Are you sure?”

He smiled, full of affection, exhaling on something of a laugh, “I’m invincible, remember?”

“That we know of,” you didn’t return his smile, “please, don’t do that again.”

Bob didn’t answer, because he knew he couldn’t promise that. Even if he could, it’s not like he ever would.

He wants to tell it to you when you pull him into your room the second you get home, standing close enough that he can count the stars reflected in your eyes.

He wants to tell you everything right now, everything he’s held onto so tightly all this time because he didn’t think that he ever deserved this.

Bob’s been made his whole life to think that this was never in the stars for him. The Void in his chest, the one that he manages somehow to keep at bay most days, still whispers it to him. Still sneers at him for even entertaining the idea he could ever have it, let alone with someone as good as you.

Then you kiss him. Just a peck, the briefest meeting of lips at first. You look up at him searchingly, waiting for him to push you away or say this is a mistake, but he would never. So long as you want it, he’d give you anything.

He’s the one to initiate your second kiss, more firmly this time, with the reverence of a man who believes he would never get to do this again. You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer and closer until your chests are touching.

“Invincible, maybe,” you whisper once you pull away, your voice wobbly as you breathe the words into the quiet space between you, “but not replaceable. Not to me.”

Bob feels something crack open inside him then. He buries his nose in the junction of where your neck and shoulder met, hot tears dripping down the delicate curve there and soaking into your shirt.

He wants more, to let his body tell you what he can’t yet bring himself to say, but finds himself almost afraid of it. It has been a while since he’s been this close, this intimate, with someone he genuinely cares about. Maybe even longer since he’s done it with a clear head.

But you seem content to just hold him, like that first time, as though it doesn’t make him near desperate with want and weak with affection all at the same time. And later, before sleep can claim the both of you, he carries you to the bathroom to wash up. The two of you stay in the tub long after you are clean.

Steam curls into the air, hot water rippling as Bob sits behind you, caging you between his arms as you lean back comfortably against the sturdy planes of his chest.

He says it to you then, murmurs into your skin that he’s found love here.

Bob almost can’t believe it when you say it back.

That night, he falls asleep in your arms again, the side of his head pressed to your chest, listening to the steady beating of your heart against his ear.

The darkness in his own begins to recede that much further with each reassuring thump, as though chased away by the dawning of the morning sun.

And you.

Always you.

FIN.

Notes: There’s been a lot of discourse lately about how Bob’s character is or has been written since Thunderbolts* came out. I only hope I did him justice somewhat; there’s so much we still don’t know about him. Choose kindness when interacting with each other. (I will not budge on the stutter thing, though. Note that having a stutter and the occasional nervous stammer in high-tension situations are not the same thing.)

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. Do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. No part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. Minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x f!reader #bob reynolds x female reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds fanfiction #bob reynolds angst #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds oneshot #bob reynolds fanfic #bob reynolds x asian!reader #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds fanfic

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chunkofchange · 1 year ago

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#flowers arts #hes so sweet Does he know? Does he know?#WELL i guess during riv hes before becoming an older guy so hes allowed to break his role sometimes on purpose and enjoy #these things But whatever. that ones not riv CHECKMATE.#i dont know if im going to draw the different eyes for that i like the idea of it being hidden better than AT LEAST that .#especially considering no part of him actually. knows at this point #Uhhhh. Beap boxing puppy #i dont think ive ever shared im useful and free This song is kind of at fault for that. What the hell. it makes him happy #and i like to think that suffer for fashion (song) can be interpreted as perception. i feel like fashion and perception are synonyms #ok. im going to say this one more time because i still cant remember if ive actually written it in a post.#BOB riv playlist. Thats all. i put a things in it #it will help me remember what arcs i have planned.. though most of the stuff ill do is improvised. as. entries are #OK NO more stuff. if im bored i should work on making stickfigure camp worse. BYE see you (maybe will take a bath)

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sl-ut · 1 month ago

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i like it better

was gonna wait to post this but i decided to go ahead with it in honour of me graduating with my bachelor’s degree (first gen. university grad!!!) yesterday and starting my new job today!!! i watched thunderbolts* last week and i loved it and i love bob even more.

pairing: robert “bob” reynolds x fem!enhanced!reader

description: every member of the thunderbolts* are struggling with having friends for the first time in… ever, for the most part. the team is shocked to find out that, for some reason, bob is having the easiest time with it. aka, four times the team notices a budding romance, and one time they all realize they’re late to the conclusion.

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* but not crazy so read at your own risk, reader DOES have a backstory but it’s not detailed in this (i’m considering making this a non-chronological or plot-based series about this pairing i love them smmmm pls lmk if i would be wasting my time or not lol), golden retriever x black cat vibes, slight age gap (r is early-mid 20s, i assume bob is supposed to be late 20s maybe early 30s?), reader has similar powers to wanda–lightly detailed in this fic, swearing, mentions of past addictions and substance use, reader has BEEF w john walker and everyone loves it, READER REFERRED TO BY CODENAME PANDORA

words: 6.4K

date posted: 16/5/25

Despite all of their differences, the Avengers had been able to establish a certain level of respect and friendliness amongst one another–Bucky wasn’t sure of how they had been able to do it. From what he’d heard and experienced, Steve and Tony had butt heads with one another more times than they could count, and that’s saying a lot considering that one of them was a self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Clint seemed to be a wild card, not often around enough to be on anyone’s permanent bad side, while Natasha was notoriously good at playing both sides with every member of the team. Bucky Barnes was certain that he would not have lasted more than a week with that crew before they were tearing each other apart, which was quite evident in the way that the team quite literally tore themselves apart when he came into the picture, but somehow, some way, a group of assassins, super soldiers, and gods were able to find some sort of commonality for the sake of team morale, so why couldn’t he do the same with this team?

He inarguably had more in common with this group than Steve had with the others. He, Yelena, and Alexei were highly trained assassins; he and John both super soldiers who, at one point, worked for the U.S. government; he and Ava were both the results of some lab experiments thanks to SHIELD aka HYDRA and both had a tendency to stick to themselves; he and Bob–well, he wasn’t sure that he had anything in common with Bob aside from the crippling mental illness that accompanied a not entirely consensual superhero lifestyle. However, there was one final member of the team that he had more in common with than any of the rest, and she was the one he found the most difficult to break through to.

The girl had been saved from a HYDRA base not too long after the Battle of Sokovia, where she’d been held hostage and used as a lab experiment for the vast majority of her life. She was only a kid then, barely old enough to have a valid driver's license, but Steve had taken her under his protection just as he had done with Bucky. Her powers had been unstable, a failed attempt to recreate the exact abilities of Wanda Maximoff without the use of the mind stone, but when Steve, Nat, and Bucky had been forced to go on the run, Shuri was able to create some sort of blockers for her mind, to isolate her abilities from use so she no longer had to fear losing control. Now, here he was over five years later, compact onto a superhero team with her, though she no longer the tortured child he had once promised his best friend that he would protect, and he wasn’t entirely certain as to how she had regained her powers, but she had grown to have a steely wall between herself and the other New Avengers, as they had been deemed, especially with him.

On one hand, he could understand that the girl had been traumatized, much like he had, but instead having no fond childhood memories to look back on except for the few months that she had been able to stay at the Avengers Compound with Steve. But on the other hand, he was growing increasingly frustrated with the attitude that she had developed–snarky, bratty, and bold; the teenage phase that she’d been denied of now surfacing during her twenties. She could be unpredictable, either making her presence known through witty comments or ignoring any of their existences, which made it especially stange to Bucky when he began to pick up on certain tendencies she had when it came to Bob.

If Bucky were asked to describe Bob in three words, they would be um, uh, and nice. Bob was the nicest of the group, though that was no great feat when you considered exactly what sort of people had been assembled into the team, but Bucky knew relatively little about him. He was the most dangerous of them all without question, but still for whatever reason had settled into the role as a walking punching bag with little fight. He was awkward, easily embarrassed, an easy target for the others to pick at when he did something wrong. When they had all initially moved into the tower, he was the only one who had made much of an effort to befriend anyone, but he could never seem to hold eye contact with the fiery young woman in fear of taking a verbal lashing, like the others often did, and yet he never did.

In fact, while he made an effort to avoid being in her path, she more often than not diverted it so that he was her final destination. On an empty floor of the tower where she could isolate herself just about anywhere, as she normally would choose to do, she would seek out wherever he was and silently join him in whatever he was doing.

The first time Bucky noticed it, he was returning from the gym. He’d sent a nod in Bob’s direction as he stepped out of the elevator, then halted in his tracks as his gaze shot back to the scene before him; she was curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her as her eyes scanned the pages of the novel in her lap, meanwhile Bob had taken up the space at the other end of the couch, sitting so stiff that Bucky wondered if the girl had held him at gunpoint just before Bucky entered the room. She didn’t even spare the super soldier a glance, only turning the page as he sent a questioning look to the shaggy-haired man, whose eyes widened even further in an effort to convey his own uncertainty with her presence.

Bucky moved on, stepping into the kitchen just across the room to find himself something to snack on, making sure to keep a close eye on the girl–he wasn’t sure whether or not he should start planning Bob’s funeral.

Bob finally broke the awkward silence, stunning the man in the kitchen. Bob had relatively stuck to the practice of speaking when spoken to, but Bucky was certain that he’d never seen Bob speak to her since moving into the tower.

“I can put something else on, if you want,” he smiled awkwardly at her, eyes flickering between her and the screen, “I’m not really watching it anyways.”

“Don’t be stupid, Bob,” she said as she glanced up at him, and Bucky was certain he saw the slightest curve of her lips as she met Bob’s gaze, “you’re like halfway through. I like this one, anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes moved to the flatscreen on the wall, across from where they were seated, brow furrowing in confusion as his thoughts tumbled through his lips before he could truly process them, “You told me you hated this movie when I watched it last week.”

Her gaze turned to him, sharpening as she narrowed her eyes, “Maybe I just hate when you watch it.”

Bob’s face flushed red as she turned back to her book without another word, awkwardly sipping on his glass of pop as Bucky frowned. He shook his head at the young woman, having learned to let her words roll off his back rather than letting them fester, snatching the first thing he found in the fridge and fleeing the scene, praying that Bob did not ruin whatever sort of good mood he’d put her in so that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.

***

Alexei was the kind of guy that people either loved or hated. He could be loud, obnoxious, sometimes even straight up belligerent, and had possibly the worst ability to read the room that anyone had ever seen. However, he was the most outwardly friendly member of the team, oftentimes being the leading force behind any group activities. He was still a target of the young woman, of course, but rather than taking it as a personal offense, as he mocked Bucky and John for doing, he found some enjoyment in the girl’s taunting. Any time one of her digs was sent his way, she was met with boisterous laughter and usually some sort of unnecessary physical contact.

He understood very little when it came to the lives of young women, but he was a girl dad at heart. She somewhat reminded him of his Natasha when she was a young girl–which made more sense to him when he discovered that she had been taken in by the late Black Widow and her teammates before the blip. He found himself flocking to her more than any of the others–save for Yelena, of course, claiming that he had no interest in training with anyone but the strongest of the New Avengers.

He came to understand the regular routines of the others who lived in the tower, especially when it came to who was going to be in the training facility and when. He liked that she tended to go later in the morning, allowing him to sleep in later than if he were looking to spar with any of the others, usually sauntering in with a loud greeting, jokingly challenging her to a spar that he would inevitably lose. The Red Guardian was a force to be reckoned with, but no amount of serum could fight off this sort of power. Truthfully, he would have hoped to take on Sentry again, but Bob and the others had been very adamant that Sentry was not to be brought back until they found a way for Bob to better control his abilities, and the young woman was the next best thing.

Sparring usually ended with the large Russian knocked on his ass, barely having landed a single swing at his opponent as she stood on the opposite end of the mat, barely a drop of sweat on her brow and the only sign of fatigue having been a result of using her powers. Though, as they returned to the main common area afterwards, Alexei would always announce to the others that he had been bested, but it had been a well-fought match.

“I almost had her,” He grinned as he took a long drink out of the liquor bottle he’d conjured up out of seemingly nowhere, “next time I win, you will see.”

“I’m sure,” the girl droned, turning to where Ava sat at the dining table, “where’s Bob?”

Ava shrugged, raising a brow curiously, “Haven’t seen him. Why?”

“I told him we would go get bagels.”

“I would love to get bagels,” Alexei rose back up to his feet, “I will join.”

“No you won’t,” The girl turned sharply on her heel, “I think you could have better things to do than bother me all day.”

The Guardian, undeterred by her words, chuckled joyously, “Of course, of course. Bring me blueberry.”

As if he had sensed that she had been looking for him, Bob appeared in the doorway of the common area, eyes flickering between Alexei and Ava with a breathy hi before he turned his attention to the woman standing with her arms crossed. His face flushed under her intimidating stare as he began to wring his fingers in front of him nervously.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi,” she echoed back to him, “I was just looking for you.”

If possible, he blushed even more, the pink tint of his cheeks deepening into a burnt shade of red, “Oh, uh, you were?”

Ava tilted her head curiously at his reaction, not entirely sure if Bob was nervous or petrified at her words, though she wouldn’t blame him for either.

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “You still want a bagel or what?”

Relief streaked across his face as he realized why the girl had been looking for him, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, pushing past his figure in the doorway, “Good, I’m starving. Let me grab my coat.”

The moment she was out of earshot, or so he assumed, Alexei called out to Bob to grab his attention, “Psst, Bob. Bring me bagel. Blueberry.”

Bob smiled awkwardly before he nodded, jumping as the girl appeared beside him once more, now bundled in a soft brown coat, taking his hand in her own as she all but dragged him towards the elevator without another glance to the others. Bob turned quickly to offer a bashful wave to his teammates before they disappeared around the corner.

Ava huffed as they left her sight, “Now what was that about?”

Alexei looked at her with his brow furrowed, crossing his thick arms over his chest, “What? I wanted bagel.”

***

Contrary to Bucky’s belief, the young woman actually did consider some of her teammates to be her friends. While her words were often interpreted as nasty insults that were better left ignored, something that she was more apt to respect was the way that Yelena and Ava were able to give it back to her. It was a respect that they earned from her, and she them, leading to a friendship based on past traumatic experiences and forced proximity. When she wasn’t revelling in her loneliness, she was usually in the company of one of the two older women–or her most recent choice of companion, but even then, it did not mean she had given up her frequent enjoyment of alone time.

Yelena was an early riser, often having slept barely two hours the night before. The three women had spent the last week on an assignment, only returning an hour earlier. The plane made for a rough sleep, though the black eye that Yelena was sporting certainly didn’t help.

She entered the kitchen, finding Ava already seated at the dining table as she dug into a plate heaped with an assortment of breakfast foods. The counter was decorated with a few larger plates piled with eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast served up buffet-style. Behind the counter, Bob was muttering to himself as he messed with the new espresso machine that Bucky had ordered.

“Morning,” the Russian sighed, wasting no time in piling her own plate with food. She’d survived on granola bars and beef jerky for the last week, so a hot, home-cooked breakfast was a vision akin to heaven in her eyes, even if it had been made by Bob–he was getting better, but he was no Gordon Ramsay.

He turned to glance over his shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of the blonde, “Oh, hi Yelena. How was the mission?”

“It was okay, boring. Way too easy,” she eyed him curiously as he turned back to the machine, “I thought you didn’t drink coffee, Bob.”

Ava smirked as she spoke through a mouthful of eggs, “It’s for his girlfriend.”

He whirled around at this, eyes wide as a familiar red flush crept up his neck and crawled across his cheeks. His mouth gaped at the two women, seemingly unable to string together the words to defend himself from their taunting stares.

“She’s not–I’m–We–”

“Oh my god,” Yelena laughed, “I had no idea you had it in you, Bob.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“No, but you want her to be,” Ava added. “You love her.”

“Who loves who?” Alexei appeared in the kitchen as well, eyes lighting up at the sight of the prepared spread of food, clapping Bob on the shoulder before loading up his own plate, “Bob, I could kiss you.”

“No one loves no one,” Bob frowned, stammering over his words, “I mean, we–”

“Bob loves Pandora,” Ava said again to Alexei, who made a noise of approval through his mouthful of food.

“Oh, this?” Alexei asked, “This I already know.”

The other third all turned to him in bewilderment, exclamations of surprise leaving their mouths.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Yelena asked, a look of betrayal on her face as she launched a piece of toast at her father.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Bob demanded, looking like he could faint at any moment, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever you say, Bob,” Yelena chuckled, finally tucking into her food with the exact excitement of someone who hadn’t eaten a hot meal in a week.

Then came the woman in question, floating in through the kitchen like a spirit with her hair wet from the long, hot bath she’d taken upon their return. The others froze, unsure of whether she had heard what they had been talking about prior to her entry. She wore a pair of black leggings, tucked into a pair of long wool socks beneath her favourite pair of slippers, torso hidden beneath a worn grey sweatshirt–one that Bob was able to recognize all too well.

“Morning,” he beamed at her, her presence seemingly soothing the embarrassment he’d been faced with as a result of their acknowledgment of his feelings for her, “I, uh, I made breakfast. And coffee, how you like it.”

The girl peered up at him before reaching for the mug that he had offered in her direction, taking a slow sip before a small smile crawled onto her lips as she thanked him. The others watched as she turned to put together her own breakfast, but their eyes were all trained on the shaggy-haired man, following his own gaze as he observed her silently, mulling over her wet hair, down the slopes of her cheeks while they glistened in the soft morning light from her hydrating skin care routine. Her shoulders, covered in the heavy sweatshirt that he wasn’t even sure of how or when she had taken it out of his closet.

To Bob, she was always the most gorgeous woman on earth, whether she wore her fitted suit or bundled up to combat the bitter nature of New York City, but he always found her the most beautiful when she was home, dressed comfortably and considerably less guarded, where he got to really know her for more than her own trust issues. When she made herself malleable to love, where she allowed him past her guarded walls. Everything that they’d each experienced in the past, all of the trauma that they’d been forced to endure–it was all out in the open and safe, both learning to rely on one another’s presence to feel fully at ease. The only bit his team members were wrong about was about her being his girlfriend–they’d never gotten quite that far, so they had never even made their feelings clear to one another. He wanted more, but he was happy to take things as slow as she needed.

Ava and Yelena exchanged a glance across the table, flickering between the pair as they joined them at the table, Bob finally picking at his own breakfast as he settled into the seat next to her. He seemed content as they both tucked into their food, silently sharing a few glances as the others finally changed the topic of conversation.

Though none of them were ready to let Bob away with this for much longer.

***

John Walker was inarguably the least liked member of the New Avengers, not that he did very much to help with that. He was rude to his teammates, often quite selfish, and quite possibly the most arrogant man in New York City. For someone who boasted about his achievements in the military and as team captain of his high school football team, you might think that he might put some more effort behind his ability to work as a team. After taking on the role of Captain America, however, John quickly learned that he didn’t tend to play well with others.

When he’d first moved into the tower, he had assumed that, having once already housed the former team of Avengers, there would be ample space for the entire team without encroaching on his personal space. While that was generally true, one thing that John couldn’t help but notice was that, particularly at night, his enhanced hearing often picked up any sounds on his floor, mainly from the neighbouring bedroom, which belonged to Bob. This meant that he was subjected to Bob’s insistent pacing, humming, and occasional snoring when he finally fell asleep, but more recently he had noticed a particular increase in talking. He wasn’t able to make out any words or phrases being said, but the muffled sound of his voice was enough to keep him up at night. He had even brought it up to Bob with a lingering concern of him speaking to Sentry at night, as he’d been known to do before, only to be met with a sputtering, blushing mess, claiming to just be sleeptalking.

One night, though, John had had enough. The talking, the giggling, John could not figure out what the hell Bob could possibly have going on to sound so happy at two in the morning, but he was going to put an end to it.

His fist met the door with force, not caring about whether or not he might be waking up any of the others as he impatiently waited for Bob to answer the door, though his anger quickly dissipated into utter confusion as the door swung open to reveal the one person in the world who he actively avoided interacting with.

“Can I help you, Walker?”

He squinted his eyes at her, taking in her appearance as she stood before him in her pyjamas, hair pushed out of her face by a fluffy leopard print headband and her face coated in some slimy green substance, “Uh, yeah. Where’s Bob?”

The door creaked open a little further to reveal the man in question, appearing at her side with a matching green sludge on his face with his own shaggy brown hair pushed away with a similar fluffy blue headband.

He smiled bashfully at the supersoldier at the door, “Oh, hi John. What’s up?”

Walker’s eyes flickered between the pair, brow furrowed in surprise, “If I cared a little more I might ask the same thing. It’s two a.m., can this not wait?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, “It can’t actually.”

Bob’s eyes widened in shock at her defiance, “I mean, we’re almost done–”

“No we’re not,” she interrupted him, “we’ve still got five steps left in our skincare routine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John asked, his patience wearing impossibly thin, “Could you two just finish braiding each other’s hair and shut up already?”

“And why don’t you go take a nap on the freeway?”

“Woah–hey,” Bob bit back his own laugh at the girl’s words, wanting to both deescalate the building tension and stay on her good side; altercations between these two usually only ended one way, which was John a beating without the young woman having to so much as lift a finger. “We’re almost done, Walker. Hell, we’d probably be done by now if it weren’t for this conversation.”

John looked at Bob in surprise as the girl let out a sharp laugh, equally shocked at his words. Bob could be quite snarky when he wanted to be, but he was also somewhat of a peacemaker among his teammates; these weren’t the type of people where fighting would result in bad blood and arguments, it could end in the destruction of the building and a funeral or two. But, that didn’t mean he was unable to have his own issues with his teammates, and one thing he was truly tired of was taking so much shit from the man who was Captain America for all of two minutes.

“You heard him, Walker,” she smirked up at him victoriously, “beat it. We’ll keep it down, wouldn’t want you to miss out on your precious beauty sleep. Lord knows you need it.”

The door slammed shut, rattling with the force of it as it narrowly missed the tip of his nose. The trek back down the hall felt fuzzy to John as he pondered the interaction he’d just had with the pair, even as he laid in the darkness of his room.

What was she doing in his room at this hour? Since when are they so close? Was Bob wearing a face mask? Why–

What in God’s name are those noises?

***

Valentina had always been a nuisance to the members of the New Avengers, even long before the team even existed. Sure, her involvement in their lives was what had brought them together and helped form a certain bond between them, and had she not done so then there would not have been anyone there to defend New York City from Sentry–though there also wouldn’t be a Sentry if it weren’t for Valentina either. But now that she wasn’t even truly in control of the New Avengers, she still seemed to be keeping one hand on the wheel at all times.

The personalities of the team didn’t match up very well. Most of them were explosive, manipulative, and deeply traumatized, but one thing that Valentina seemed to put extra importance behind was the idea of team bonding time to promote better unity. In truth, she didn’t really care whether the team got along or not, she just wanted to ensure that they were perceived as unified by the public and by potential threats.

Thus brought the team to be sitting in the living room, arranged in a circle around the wooden coffee table with a deck of cards arrayed across the surface. Nothing brought a group of individuals together like a game of Uno, right? Well, when the individuals were specially trained to conspire and betray one another, perhaps that wasn’t the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Bucky groaned as the young woman dropped yet another plus four into the centre pile, “there’s no way you’re not cheating. Where are you getting all of these cards?”

“Magic,” she said, shrugging as she took the last swig from her can of Diet Coke.

The Winter Soldier let out a sharp exhale through his nose before reaching out to pluck four more cards from the quickly dwindling deck. Next to him, Yelena barely paid attention to the game as she tossed her own card down, eyes trained on the man across from her as he shifted nervously under her stare. Bob wasn’t entirely sure of why Yelena and Ava had been so aggressively staring him down all evening, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with his feelings for the younger woman sitting next to him, he was only hoping that they wouldn’t be bold enough to bring it up in front of the rest of the team–especially her.

Pandora pushed herself back onto her haunches, fingers curling around the empty can as she glanced over at him, nodding at his nearly empty glass of water, “Want another?”

A small, bashful smile curved onto his lips, nodding graciously as she grabbed his glass and stood to her full height, turning to head towards the kitchen.

“I could use another beer,” John called after her, shaking his empty bottle in her direction.

“Great, the fridge is full of them whenever you’re ready,” she didn’t even spare him a glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Without missing a beat, Yelena leaned forward. For a moment, Bob thought she was about to reach across the table to peek at the missing girl’s abandoned cards that she had set on the table, so he quickly reached out and pressed his hand against the cards to keep them firmly in their place.

Yelena looked at him in confusion for a moment, which quickly developed into an expression of betrayal, “Bob! You thought I was going to cheat? Who do you think I am?”

His eyes widened as he registered the offense in her voice, quickly moving his hand away, “Oh, sorry. It just, I don’t know, looked like you were.”

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“You told me not to,” he stared blankly at her.

She scowled at him, but waved it off, “Have you done anything yet?”

“Done what?” John inserts himself.

“None of your business,” Ava scolded him before turning back to Bob, “well?”

A bloom of red pinched at Bob’s cheeks as he shook his head, “N-no I haven’t. There’s nothing to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky asked, glancing between the two women and Bob.

Bob watched Bucky nervously as Yelena vaguely described the investigation that she and Ava had taken upon themselves to conduct. Regardless of the current state of their relationship, Bucky had known the girl since she was a teenager, and had promised his “late” best friend that he would watch out for her, so he was still considerably protective over her (though anytime he tried to show any sign of this he would have a near encounter with the nearest and heaviest object she could hurl his way).

Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he turned his gaze to Bob, “You and her? No way.”

Bob furrowed his brow in concern, “I mean, is–I don’t think it’s that outrageous.”

“I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t been hearing them in his room at all hours of the night,” John chimed in, resting his chin on his closed fist as he portrayed his sudden interest in the topic.

“What?” The others all exclaimed in unison, turning frantically from John to Bob, who’s entire face and neck were now burning.

“We were just doing skincare!”

Yelena barked out a laugh while Bucky furrowed his brow impossibly further, lips curling in confusion.

“Come on now, Bobby,” John grinned condescendingly, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

“It is,” Bob demanded, “look, I don’t know what you want me to say but–”

“What’re you guys talking about?” the girl in question asked as she rounded the corner again, resuming her seat on the floor as she placed two fresh glasses of water on the table, one in front of Bob and one for herself.

The New Avengers all shared an uncertain glance. Sure, they could out Bob right then and there, and the deed would be done. They would become a couple and the team could be spared the next however many weeks before Bob finally explodes from infatuation. Or, of course, they could out him and then have to deal with the aftermath of the young woman not reciprocating his feelings, destroying the strongest relationship that both of them had been able to make since joining the team, and taking away the only calming factor that either of them were able to find to subdue their powers. It was a gamble, and for most of them, it probably wasn’t worth–

“We’re talking about Bob’s love for you, of course!” Alexei roared, joining the conversation for the first time since she’d left–he, of course, had chosen straight vodka for his drink of choice, and while it was nearly impossible for him to get drunk off of it, he’d been able to get his hands on just enough to make him tipsy.

The entire team stared at the large Russian man in disbelief. He’d been half asleep for the last hour, having spent a large majority of the afternoon convincing every member of the team to come spar with him. A cobalt blue shimmer surrounded the young woman for only a second, disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared–a reaction of her shock and slight embarrassment, akin to Bob’s beet red cheeks.

“Dad!” Yelena hissed, “you weren’t supposed to tell her.”

Bob stuttered a slow response, a few jumbled words that truly didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The others sat quietly, soaking in the suddenly chokingly awkward air in the room while Alexei argued to defend himself.

“What?” he asked, then turned back to the girl, “I tell truth, he talks about you all the time.”

She was silent for a moment, narrowed eyes scanning her teammates so closely that they were a little concerned that she was about to snap on them.

“Well, I would hope so. We’ve been together for months.”

“What?” Bucky barked.

Yelena scoffed out a weak, “Since when?”

“You have?” Ava jolted forward in shock, while John choked on his last swig of beer.

“We have?”

She turned to meet the wide, teary eyes of Bob. Her expression softened as she took in his appearance, lips appearing dry from his insistent chewing, the colour of his cheeks softening into a dark pink shade rather than the red that had formed out of embarrassment. She reached across, taking his hand in her own and stroking the back of it with her thumb.

“You didn’t know?” She tilted her head in amusement, “Bob, I’ve been sleeping in your bed every night for months.”

Bucky lurched forward, “Okay, a little less info please, some of us don’t need to know the details.”

She squinted at him, “Cram it, Tin-Tin. I’m not talking to you.”

“I mean,” Bob coughed, lowering his voice to feign some privacy as if he weren’t in a room with highly trained and enhanced individuals, “I never asked–not that I don’t want to–it’s just, I never got to ask you.”

She raised her brows at him, “Yes you did.”

“He did?” John gasped, finding himself much more intrigued by the situation than he ever could have expected.

She ignored him, “Yeah, right after the fourth of July, remember? You told me you liked being with me.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant–” Bob stammered, blood draining from his face as he noticed the slight recoil of rejection in her body language, her grip on his hand loosening as if she meant to pull away. He tightened his own hold, “I do like being with you, I just didn’t know that’s how you took that. But I would like to. Be with you, I mean.”

A small smile curved onto her lips, and perhaps if she wasn’t sitting in front of an audience, she may have granted him a full grin as she squeezed his hand, “Good. In that case, I’m telling people that I’m the one who asked you.”

Bob nodded, turning to glance at his teammates bashfully, all of whom seemed to be in utter disbelief of what they were witnessing, “Yeah, me too.”

“Ahh, young love,” Alexei sighed, settling into the couch cushions as he slung an arm over Yelena and John’s shoulders on either side of him, “go on, Bob, kiss her.”

“Alright,” Bucky stood up, tossing his cards onto the table, “that’s enough of all the mushy-gushy. I’m going to bed.” he paused hesitantly as he turned to head down the hall, glancing down at the young woman, “I’m happy for you, kid. But let’s keep it PG, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, “You better hurry up, wouldn’t want the geriatric unit putting out a search party.”

BONUS

This was, without a doubt, the most comfortable Bob had felt since he’d first moved into the tower. Laying in his bed, freshly showered, ceiling fan on, and the woman he hadn’t even known he was dating curled into his side with her head on his chest and wearing clothes entirely from his closet. She wasn’t asleep yet, he knew by the way that her fingertips were slightly twitching against the fabric of his shirt. She liked to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat; she'd told him many times that she found it soothing and helped her drift off to a slumber that wasn’t entirely plagued by nightmares. In turn, her weight on his chest seemed to help with his anxiety, like a weighted blanket that was suspiciously girlfriend-shaped.

He spoke her name into the darkness of the room, waiting to hear her soft hum of recognition to continue, “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

She let out a quiet giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t know we were dating this whole time. I literally sleep on top of you every night.”

He let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, well…”

“And I let you make out with me all the time.”

“I know–wait, you let me? You haven’t been enjoying it?”

She turned her head to stare up at him, chin settling into the groove of his pec comfortably as she smirked at him, “Well I did at the time, when I thought you were making out with your girlfriend, but now that I know you were actually just making out with some random chick?”

“It wasn’t just some random chick,” he argued, “it was some neighbour chick. I’d seen her around.”

She pinched his side through his t-shirt, causing him to squirm underneath her, “Oh really? I guess that means I was just making out with some nerd I’ve seen around then, huh?”

He smirked, glad for the darkness of the room and it’s ability to conceal his blush from her, “I think I like it better when you call me your boyfriend.”

She turned her head again, returning to her original position as her cheek nestled against his chest, lips gently pressing against the white cotton.

“Yeah, I like it better, too.”

#x reader #reader insert #imagines #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#new avengers

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angel-eyes05 · 1 month ago

Text

going over easy

pairing: bob reynolds x powered!thunderbolts!fem!reader

summary: two of the same. after breaking through inital barriers, you and the sentry appear to be inseperable, a pull almost forcing you two to each other. the strength of that pull has been getting pretty testy recently, and the two of you begin to wonder who you are to the other.

warnings/info: nsfw and mdni warning by the end of the fic, ill section off that part if you just wanna read the cutey parts, veryyyyyyy soft sex, no use of y/n, this bob is gonna be a little different from how i see him in a lot of other fics so disclaimer about that ig, but dw he's still very soft and sweet, oral sex and fingering (f!receiving), self depreciation on readers side, lots of my headcanons are gonna shine through here, reader is powered as well (yes that is gonna play into this lol) and is less of a blank slate than usual (aka shes kinda side rip), a scene in the void so we can know reader a little more and just for plot purposes lol, bob's powers are gonna be limited to whatever we saw showcased in thunderbolts so please dont get picky if somethings comic inaccurate thanks, its bob so ofc theres a little bit of angst too but dw this is very fluffy as well we love being well rounded lol

word count: 13.3k

notes: so guess who's obsessed with thunderbolts now.....and guess what half of the reasoning is.....if your guess was a man YOUD BE RIGHT!!!! i had to write for him ofc, i put a steve harrington fic on pause for this i had to jump on it lol. one thing i will say about bob fics that annoy me is that ofc everyone turns bob into a cutesy pootsy uwu boy which, hate me or whatever, he is NOTTTTT to me, that man was so sassy and sarcastic in the vault (to walker especially lol) so i wanted that to come out a little more here while still being his naturally sweet and soft self. i go a little bit into 2016 mcu fandom mode on some of the early character descriptions and relationships BUT CAN YOU BLAME A GIRL CAUSE IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE BACK, I JUST HAD TO </3. i also didnt proofread this cause yet again its like 1am when im posting this and im so tired so if you catch anything uhhhh my bad lol. anyways this is standard to most of my other fics, so have fun lol enjoy!!!

dividers by: @cafekitsune

You always overcooked your eggs. It was part of your routine at this point in your life. As a kid, your irrationally large fear of getting salmonella caused you to force your mom to always burn your eggs, chicken, and other foods of the sorts. It didn't even taste bad to you. It was all you had ever known. Uncomfortable, but natural. You scooped the rubbery eggs out of the pan and onto your plate while you attempted to squirt whatever ketchup you could out of the bottle. Taking your lunch, you leaned on the kitchen island and stared out of the sweeping windows of The Watchtower.

Valentina finding you was complicated. On one hand, you were out of the hell hole of a compound you called a home. However though, her manipulation paired with constant missions and training proved to be its own task entirely. And still with all that, your mind had a knack for traveling back to that dark, damp room. Like a looming threat over your head that if you ever messed up, that's where you would return.

That fear pushed you for the past few years. You worked till your bones cracked fixing up Valentina's messes. It was monotonous, but you had convinced yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to become something more with what you had. You had a special gift after all. Thrusted onto you, sure, but Valentina said that it meant you were worth something now. A living shield and sword. Each time you got hit, your body was able to process the kinetic energy into physical blasts. Meaning dodging an attack was actually bad form on your part. So you got hit. A lot. Most days you'd stumble back to your apartment, knocked in the head so silly you didn't know what was up or down.

But it was good work. Kept you busy. That was until Valentina attempted to have you assassinated, trying to tie up all her loose ends. That's all you were to her at the end of the day. A fly on the way she had to clean up before her guests arrived. Turns out though, she had lots of other flies on the walls, who would in fact turn their forces against her, becoming the world's New Avengers in the process.

One of Yelena's first personal tasks on the job was to find any other lost associates of Valentina. Lucky for you, you fell right into that category. After proving yourself physically capable and trustworthy to her and the rest of the team, you eventually joined as an official member. Your rise to glory had been long and tough, but man was the view from the top nice.

As you grew closer with each of the teammates, you noticed each of their little knick-knacks. Yelena was very easy to let you in, almost like she was begging to share herself with someone else. She must've gotten it from her father, Alexei. He didn't take anything more than four hours to warm up to you. The other three went at a much slower pace, Ava and you eventually bonding over your mutual teasing for Walker, who you made sure knew it was all in good fun. Bucky was last, but it seemed thats how he was with most people. You let him take his time, which seemed to work well in the end. All of them had made their way.

Well. Almost.

Bob was kind of a weird guy. He was kind of an Avenger? But not really? If anything, he was more of their dog that would show up to public appearances with you and the team, but never missions. He spent most of his time lounging around or cleaning up the Watchtower, or in sessions with his therapist. He was always looming around, but kept a specific distance. Mainly physical. Whenever you'd seem to be about to brush by him, he'd scatter away, like a cat who got spooked. You had talked to Yelena about it before, but she said to just give him his time. That this was probably natural after his "incident" a few months back.

You weren't in New York for it, but it of course was on the news everywhere. How a sea of black ink had devoured the city and all of its civilians in their own personalized trauma nightmare. Something you were secretly grateful to have missed. You knew exactly what you'd see if you were in there.

In the recent time of your arrival, you had managed to find and take up your role in your little group. Their own little weird mage, banned from making food for anyone but yourself. No one else liked your burnt food, big shocker.

As you wrapped up with said burnt lunch, you took your plate and utensils to the sink, as a pair of bare feet patted into the room. "Good morning sleepyhead," you called out, knowing who they belonged to already. "Morning's a bit of a stretch, it's like what, 1:30 already?" Bob replied, mid yawn. "I told you guys to start forcing me up earlier," he complained. "Yeah yeah, but Yelena says it's good for you. Your body needs its rest after the serum treatment," you retorted. "Doesn't..." he paused mid sentence to check his sleep tracker on his watch. "....14 hours seem like a little much?" "Hey, your body's gonna take what it needs," you said, finally turning around to face him. He was wearing his usual lounge outfit, a gigantic, comically oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. His body had grown incredibly sensitive to touch after the serum, so the less fabric tightening down on him, the better.

Bob gave a half smile to your comment and attempted to wipe the drowsiness off his face. "You can leave that for me, it's fine," Bob commented, as you took the dish soap and drizzled it over your dirty plate and pan. "I don't mind, I'm already here anyways," you insisted, turning on the tap. Bob sighed and shrugged his shoulders backwards in an attempt to wake his body up. "Alright, but I'm taking charge on the stovetop," he insisted, walking over to your area.

Something must've been in the air today, because this was the most Bob had talked to you in a while, and this was definitely the closest he had stood near you ever before. His presence was a sweet one, as he himself was a sweet guy. You had seen it in the way he acted with everyone else. You knew it probably had to deal with the fact that you were the newcomer, a different face than what he was used to, but you wanted to badly to have something that close with him too. A deep, lingering jealousy had proved to be a close friend of yours when you would see how he would act with John or Yelena compared to how he would act with you.

Hopefully, this was a step in the right direction.

"You know where the others went?" Bob almost immediately asked.

Or maybe not.

"Downstairs in a meeting with Valentina. I got a pass to skip on this one." In the last meeting you had been to, Bucky had to hold you down before you had the chance to blast her smug smirk off her face.

Bob made a hum in acknowledgment. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded, which you caught out of the corner of your eye. "How do you feel about....her?" Bob paused for a moment.

When Yelena had told you Valentina was at majority blame for The Void Incident, you had no doubt in believing it. You didn't know how the others were so okay with it, but Ms. de Fontaine being your boss still unsettled you. You didn't like the idea that she was still overseeing all of your actions and controlling how you were supposed to be acting towards the public. Especially after the shit she's pulled. Once Yelena explained the situation, about the blackmail shock collar the team had on her if she ever took anything too far, you felt a little more at ease about it. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake off the paranoia about being in this situation with her.

"Fine," Bob responded. You placed the plate down in the sink and turned to face him finally. "That's all you're gonna give me? Fine?" He gave a deep, annoyed sigh. "Well what do you want me to say? That I don't like her? That I don't trust her? That she's the reason I'm like this now and when it didn't go the way she planned, she killed me? Hmm?" You froze a little bit. You hadn't seen this side of him before. The team said it came out a little bit when he would go "Sentry-Mode" (a name made on Alexei's part). You sighed and went back to washing your dish. Bob rubbed his face again. "Sorry, I just thought it was pointless to state the obvious." You smirked a little bit. "Well that's one thing right. Just trying to fill the air I guess." "I know....sorry, that was mean." There's the Bob you know. Always apologizing. "You're good."

The air was stuffy with a tension for the next few minutes while you cleaned the kitchen. Up until a wet glass plate slipped out of your hands and crashed onto the floor, shattering into a billion little pieces. Bob flinched at the sound, on the other side of the island wiping down the counter. You froze and chuckled to yourself a bit. "Woah, you okay?" he asked, concerned. "Yeah, yeah, just a bit of a ditz today," you said, wiping your hand across your face. "You're good, just stay where you are for a sec, I don't want you to get any in your feet," Bob warned, going into first responder mode as he assessed the situation. "I wanna try this out for a second," he insisted.

You watched closely and stilly, as Bob took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and put his hands out. Suddenly, the glass shards around your feet jittered and lifted into the air slowly, as Bob opened his eyes and guided them to the trash can. Once he was done, he released his breath and dropped his hands. "Well look at mister big shot powers over here!" you cheered. "Bucky let you start practicing again recently?" "Yeah, a little bit here and there just so I don't go overboard again," he blushed a light pink. "Keep it up," you smiled at him.

Before you took another step, you looked down at the ground and noticed a particularly large piece of glass. "Oops, looks like you missed one hot-rod." "Shit, sorry, let me try one more time," he said closing his eyes again. "No no, don't worry, it's fine, I'll just pick this one up," you insisted, reaching down to pick it up. "No, wait, you'll cut yourself!" Bob shouted, almost running over to reach you. "Bob, it's fine I pro-."

As Bob's hand grabbed onto your wrist, you felt a spike of shivers roll down your arm. The first time he had made contact with you, and his hands were so soft....

You couldn't focus on it for long though, looking up and seeing a face of pure horror on Bob's face. You looked at him confused. You were quick to join him though as streams of black slithered across the floor and over your eyes. The last thing you remember was Bob's hand ripping off your wrist, desperately called out your name as the shadows took his place.

~~~~~

Your eyes peeled open, as you tried to assess your surroundings after the chaos. It was eerily quiet, a leaky faucet dripping as the only sound. The room was dark, damp, and cold. Concrete floors and walls, a chamber pot in the corner, and a cot with a wrinkled, thin blanket shoved against the wall. After your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw her. The lone decoration of the room. A poster of 1961's Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey Hepburn's face faded and discolored with time. The more you stared, the more you recognized this room. You knew where you were. And worst of all, you knew exactly what day this was.

With almost perfect timing, the metal door slide open with angry force. Three armored men burst into the room, as you heard something shuffle itself across the floor. You didn't even notice her at first.

A girl, shoved up into the corner of the wall, head hanging over the chamber pot as she wiped the bile off her mouth. Your memory was fuzzy, but she couldn't have been older than 17 at the time. With short, flat, oily, botched up hair. Wires were bursting out of her neck and down her back, connecting her to a running machine in the wall for vitals.

You. An older one.

The most notable feature was her frame. You would expect someone in this situation to look malnourished, seconds away from death. On the contrary, uncanny muscles were bulging out of her arms and upper back, like they were clawing to be let out. A product of the treatment, like a sumo wrestler on steroids.

The men rushed over to that version of you, ripping the wires out of her neck and latching on a power damper collar in their place. That collar itself was an omen. Can't torture the girl who can absorb the pain and shoot it back out. You'd just be throwing fuel onto the fire.

They forced younger you up to your feet as their superior walked into your room. You could feel your heart stop in your chest as you searched in desperation for a way out. You called out for Bob, Yelena, anyone at all. Almost like your mind was in tune with your decisions, the metal door slammed shut just before you could run out. You leaned your head on the door, not bearing to look, barely standing to listen.

Your old superior examined younger you and the rest of the room, the poster in particular. He smiled sadistically at it. "A real stunner she was, eh?" You scoffed at his words while younger you darted her eyes away. In one swift movement, he ripped the poster down to reveal a makeshift hole halfway into the wall. Your escape route. Taking a deep breath, you finally turned around to face the incoming carnage.

"You think you're smart huh?" the man asked her. Younger you tilted her head up, looking him straight in the eyes, too worn down to care what would happen to her. He smirked. Her silence was enough of an answer. He snapped at his employees, one of them slamming the butt of his gun into her temple in response. You couldn't help but flinch.

The superior slide open the metal door again, as his pawns dragged her unconscious body out the door, while you closely followed. The harsh hospital lights left a sting to your eyes as you traveled through your mind's endless hallways. Finally, you reached the chamber. The door slide open to reveal a dentist chair and an array of instruments littered throughout the room.

The men placed her down into the chair, one of them injecting a serum into her arm to wake her up. Younger you shot awake, pulled down by different leather restraints. Bile filled your mouth as you were reduced to being so helpless to just watch. A doctor followed into the room soon after the six of you, his face burned into your mind.

He took two long prongs, pinching them onto the skin of her elbow, and turned on a machine to send out electrical shocks. After a signal from the commander, he sent out the first wave. You couldn't help but turn your head away, holding back your own tears as phantom pains of remembrance ripped through your skin.

The worst part of all of this was how younger you barely struggled at all, only letting out blood curdling screams of pain. She had accepted her fate hours ago, knowing this was inevitable. Why fight it. It would only make it worse. It made you sick to your stomach. How much she had given up at this point.

A pause in the shocks. You turned your head back to see the commander walking up to the girl, sticking his face down to her's. "You knew this was going to happen?" The girl nodded her head slowly, with the energy she had left. He scoffed. "Then you're dumber than I thought." He stepped back again and signaled for the second wave.

Not baring to take it again, you went against your own judgement and rushed between the men, ripping the prongs off of the girl's body. You met her eyes for a split second.

Behind the numbness, you could see her fear. Roaring underneath the surface.

Before you could sense the rest, you felt a slam into your own temple, knocking you down to the floor. You looked up to see all the men looking at you now, the first time they had done so. The commander pushed past them, staring you down. He crouched down to your level, pushing a stray hair back behind your ear as you shuddered. "Still the same dumb girl I see," he smirked.

In a split second, he grabbed your arm, attaching one of the prongs to it, as the still working machine sent hundreds of volts into your arm in a split second, slicing through your nerves.

~~~~

Before you had time to react to the pain, your body in the real world roared back to life, as you screamed and coughed to catch your breath. You found yourself sitting down in the middle of the kitchen as your hands scrambled all over the ground as you hyperventilated, trying to ground yourself. "Woah, woah, woah, easy, I got you, you're safe now!" You looked up and finally noticed Yelena sitting on the ground in front of you. She had both hands placed on your shoulders, looking deep into your eyes to help you center yourself. You frantically looked around the room, finding the other team members close by, staring at you. Eventually, you found Bob, walking out of the room with Bucky close on his tail. You wanted to talk to him, knowing he was probably upset too, but you had bigger things on your mind.

"I.....I..." You couldn't get the words out. Before you could try again, Yelena softly pulled you into a hug, that you returned very quickly. "You're good now, okay?" she asked. You nodded gently into her shoulder. With more deep breaths and a few tears, you eventually were brought back down. You pulled out of the hug, and began to stand on your feet.

"Yelena, I told you I needed the team up to the helicopter deck in five minutes, do you guys take pleasure in disobeying me or wha-." Valentina bursted out of the elevator, rambling on about what they were probably discussing in the meeting. She only paused after noticing the obvious tension in the room. She looked at you, hunched over and mascara running down your face. "Well what happened to you this time?"

~~~~~~~

The ambient blue glow of the tv washed over your face, as your eyes glazed over the screen. In the few hours since the incident, the team decided it was best for you to sit out on this mission. So you had cooped yourself up in your room, trying anything to distract your mind from going back to that place. Every now and again, you'd hear light pacing footsteps in the hallway outside your door.

You hadn't spoken to Bob since you went under. He hadn't made any attempts to apologize yet. Yelena said it would probably take some time and she would talk to him as soon as she got back. You didn't want to wait until then to make things right, but knowing how fragile both of you were at the moment, you didn't want to accidentally make anything worse.

When the footsteps finally stopped, you sat up a little bit in your bed. Three soft knocks followed. You paused. "Come in." It wasn't him.

Ava gave you a soft "Hi" before stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "How was the mission?" you asked her. She shrugged her shoulders. "More of the same really, you didn't miss much." She gave a little hop onto your bed, laying down on her stomach next to you. "How you feeling?" You gave a little sigh to her. "A little better. I just think I need time." She nodded at your response, and gently held your hand. "You need me, you know where to find me, okay?" You smiled and nodded at her kind gesture. Ava put up a front with the rest of the time, teasing many of the others and acting nonchalant. But something else came out in her around you. That little girl, normally shoved under years of pain and killing.

"Can I ask you something?" you asked her. "Of course." You took a deep breath in and looked her in the eye. "Back when....he took over New York, what did you see?" Ava took a minute to think to herself. "Well, I went through three different rooms to find Bob and Yelena at the center." You adjusted yourself to a more comfortable, open position, trying to create a more welcoming energy in the room as Ava got vulnerable with you. "First room was with my parents and how I got....this way." She took off one of her gloves from her suit, showing her hand phasing between multiple quantum planes at once. A painful experience, she described it as. "Second room was one of my first missions with S.H.I.E.L.D., I had to take out an unarmed doctor."

She twiddled with her fingers, looking down as she picked at the nails. "Last one was a fight I had with an old friend.....he was trying to protect me from....myself I guess....said a lot of things I regret." You frowned down at her, placing a hand on her back to rub it in condolences. "That Bill guy you were talking about earlier, right?" She nodded. "But anyways, I've learned not to dwell on it anymore. My life is different now." She looked up at you. "All of ours are now." You nodded in acknowledgment.

"We're never gonna let those bastards get you again. Can you trust me on that?" She held your face between her hands. You nodded. She looked at you deeper. "I can. All of you," you verbalized. She sat up and pulled you in tightly for a hug. Ava was your best friend. You could trust her more than anyone else here on that.

As she pulled away, she cleared her throat. "Can I ask you a question now?" You nodded. "Do you blame Bob for what happened?"

You took a second.

"No." Ava raised an eyebrow at you. "I really don't." "Okay good, just making sure." You smiled at her. "Is Yelena talking to him?" "She's gonna try to at least," Ava sighed. "He's gonna be like this for a while. Scampery, avoidant. We've learned it's best to let him work through it." You nodded. "But he's gonna be okay, right?" Ava looked up at you, slight confusion in her eyebrows. "Yeah....." You nodded. "Okay....good."

Ava sat in silence for a little bit. "You care more about him being okay than you being okay?" You looked at her, clogs turning in your mind. "When you put it like that, I guess." She looked even more confused now. "Why?"

.....

"I don't know."

~~~~~~~

The next few days were spent with you trying to answer that question for yourself. You and Bob's relationship before this was never a super close one. You always naturally kept a distance from each other. It didn't make much of a difference if things went back to normal from this or not. So why did it matter? Why did it matter if he started talking to you again? Because man did you want him to again. And badly too.

It was like he was playing a prank on you at this point. Every time you would enter a room he was in too, he would find some excuse to leave, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth. You knew the other team members noticed it too, because you would see one of them usually follow out of the room with him to confront him. You didn't want him to take the blame for this. You knew he was just taking this healing stage at his own pace. But man did you just wish his pace would go a little faster.

At least he wouldn't go on missions with you guys, then you'd really be screwed.

You tended to forget a very important fact because of that.

"Val needs you all downstairs in an hour, there's that press conference about the rebranding today." You could hear Mel talking to the group from your cracked bedroom door. You had been snooping in there, since Bob was in the control room outside with everyone else. "Bob, she wants you there too this time, says the more members there in support, the better."

Shit.

You could hear his whiny groan from your room. "Do I have to?" "Unless you wanna tell Val yourself." That must've been a huge wake up call for him, cause you could hear him rush your way to his room to get ready. He made split second eye contact with you before closing the door. Your heart almost broke with the swiftness his eyes darted away.

You closed your door and started getting ready yourself before you had to take orders from anyone. Most press meetings required a more casual, business attire. Ones like this however, required full glam, full hair, and full costume. You were particularly fast at the getting ready process, especially since you didn't have a thousand gun holsters you had to fasted on, unlike your other team members.

Your costume was also fairly simple. With the nature of your powers, your previous suits had a knack for getting the sleeves torn off, so you decided to replace that design with a simple, black, mock neck bodysuit. Your pants were standard black cargo pants, multiple pockets in case you needed any physical weapons on you in an emergency. They were tied off with a pair of heavy duty combat boots.

For press conferences, Valentina usually requested you to go the most glam with hair and makeup out of the group, since the other two girls were slightly opposed to it. So once that was finally done, you walked out of your room into the control deck, ready to go.

You usually sat there for a good amount of time by yourself, until one of the guys would join you. But this time, Yelena was the first one out after you, albeit half dressed, in the middle of doing her eyeliner, and a makeup bag in her hand.

She looked at you, slightly distressed. "What's up?" you asked. She clenched her teeth. "You're gonna say no, I know it." "Can you just ask me?" She took in a deep sigh. "Can you help Bob with his hair and makeup?" It took every bone in your body not to burst out laughing at her request.

For Valentina and the press, everyone in the tower had to be dressed up. Including the guys. Not too much, but some to cover up most of their "tough guy" looks. Almost like a stage makeup of sorts. The stylists you guys had were always wrangled up with Alexei and Walker, always opposed to the idea and needing extra support, so Yelena would take care of Bob's and Bucky would handle his own.

"I'm already running behind and Val wants Barnes and I down early to practice responses." You looked at her, baffled. "And Ava can't do it?" Yelena raised her eyebrows at you. "It's a miracle Ava can do her own." True, unfortunately. "Yelena, you're kidding me right?" She walked closer to the couch you were sitting at. "He's a grown man, can't he do it himself?" "Yes, but unfortunately he's also a very slow learner too." You shook your head to yourself. "Have you even been in the tower for the past week, he won't even look at me right now," you whispered. She sighed to herself. "I know I know, and this would be a one time thing I promise, I just really need the help right now."

You leaned back into the couch and washed your hands over your face. "And not to be an instigator, but I think it would help you two also." You snorted at her sentence, taking your hands off your eyes to see how serious her face was. You took a deep breath and thought it over for a second or two. "Fine," you gave her, deadpanned. "But you owe me so much right now." Yelena let out a sigh of relief. "I really do, thank you." She dropped the makeup bag, presumably filled with the tools you'd need, in your lap, and bolted towards her room.

~~~~~

The door to the room loomed over your head, seemingly getting taller with every passing second you stood in front of it. Biting the bullet, you finally gave four slight knocks on his door, the same knock Yelena used for all of you. Yes, it was a bit of a trick, but you knew he wouldn't have let you in otherwise. You heard a soft, kind "Come in" from the other side of the door that made your heart warm up ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door. Your heart froze up again when you saw the way his smile dropped when you walked in. He was dressed in his usual attire for conferences, a pressed, slightly too big for him, tuxedo with dress shoes. But of course, his hair was in its natural, shaggy mess and you could spot any upcoming pimples from a mile away. Your job for the afternoon.

"What ar-" "Before you kick me out can I explain!" you jumped in before he could interject. He waited a second before nodding. "Yelena had to go downstairs early and doesn't have the time to get you ready, and before you ask, yes everyone else is too busy, and yes, I am your last resort."

His eyes darted away from you and to the ground, the most of an invitation over as you were gonna get. You took a seat on his partially made bed, observing the rest of his room. It took you a second to remember that you've never been in here before. It was a lot cleaner than you expected it to be. Then again, he spent almost all of his time in the tower, so he had a lot more time to clean than the rest of you did.

There were scattered band posters on the dark blue walls of the room, and a few collected rocks lying on his T.V. stand. You opened up the bag and took out his hair gel first. Val liked his long, overgrown hair to be slicked back for press events. You squirted some of the gel on your hands and lathered it deep into them.

When you went for his hair though, he moved his head slightly back away from you. You immediately put your hands down in response. "Okay, let's get this straight now," you snapped. "I get you're mad at me for whatever reason, but I'm not gonna take this from you right now, especially when I'm trying to help you. So either grow the fuck up, or you can do it yourself, okay?" His eyes widened a little bit. You were never the mean type towards anyone on the team, but when your limits were tested like this, you had no choice but to respond.

Putting back any feelings he had, he straightened up and leaned closer into you. "Thank you," you responded. "I'll be quick, I promise. Out of your bubble in no time." Your hands tangled into his hair, pushing the light brown strands back in straight lines. Before it would get tangled in by the gel, you could feel how soft his hair was. Even if it was overgrown, you could tell he took pride in it.

As you pushed his hair back into a makeshift mullet, making sure the gel wasn't ruining his curls at the bottom, you noticed something. Just out of your peripherals, you could see his eyes, darting every which way. They couldn't stay still for more than a second. Sometimes they would be at your shoulders, at your legs, your hair. Most of the time though, they were trying to find where you weren't. But each time, they would land magnetically back to you.

You couldn't help but let out a little laugh to yourself, a little breath out of your nose. "What?" Bob reflexively asked. You smiled and shook your head. "I really don't get you, man." His brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Finally finished with his hair, you untangled your hands and brought them back to you, his eyes following them. "Bob, you're scared shitless of me."

A glow of pink wiped over his cheeks. "N-no I'm not." You laughed right in his face, as you went into the makeup bag and pulled out primer, foundation, and concealer. You squeezed lines of primer from the bottle onto his face. Before you could use your hands to rub it in though, he quickly grabbed your wrist again. Same way as before. You froze for a second before you realized, nothing was happening. You weren't going back in. You realized why when you looked at Bob's face, focused now more than you had ever seen before.

Your face and demeanor softened. "Bob." His face turned to yours, fear glazing over his eyes, trying desperately to keep the void from taking you again. You took his calloused fingers in your hands, peeling them away from your wrist and holding it with your own. You looked into his deep blue eyes, almost lost in them.

"I'm not scared of you."

His breath shook at your words, and you could've sworn you saw his eyes slightly water up. "I never have been. And I don't plan on changing that." The tension in his body melted away at those magic words. His lips pursed inwards as he looked down at your hands intertwined. "Can you trust me on that?" He gave a slight nod to you. You took his chin to your hand and pulled it up to look at you. His eyes were fully watery now. "Can you?" It took him a second.

".....I can."

You smiled at him.

"Thank you," he whispered. You closed your eyes and nodded to him. "You're welcome." The two of you sat for a moment like this, hands tangled in each other and observing each other's faces. You noticed how large his hands were. You never really considered your hands as small either, so the fact they were still much bigger than yours surprised you. They were restless as well, constantly moving between your own fingers, like they were getting a feel for how yours were. This was the most you had ever seen him before, in more ways than one.

Eventually, you let his hand go and cleared your throat. "Let's get you ready now, I'd rather avoid an earful from Val after the conference." Bob nodded and sat up straight again, as you rubbed the primer into his face with your thumbs. His slightly stubbled chin tickled the pads of your fingers in an almost hypnotic notion. Before you even knew it, your hands were staying caressing his face. Bob didn't seem to mind it, his eyes slowly closing, and even leaning his face into your touch further.

The two of you immediately snapped out of it at the sound of Bob's door slamming open. Mel stood at the door, panting, hand leaning against the frame for support. "What the hell is taking so long?" she asked frantically. "Uhhhhhh." The lack of an answer you two could come up with only angered her more. She rolled her eyes and pointed to you. "Get downstairs, I'll finish up with him." You looked back to Bob, smiled, gave his cheek a quick pat as you stood up and walked out the door.

Before Mel closed the door behind you, you caught Bob's eyes, hypnotically following you. As if he was searching for you. For more.

~~~~~~

Something shifted between the two of you after that day. No more avoidance. You found Bob coming to you for anything now. Whether he was having one of his bad days, needed help cleaning something up, or even if he just wanted to watch a movie with someone. Equally, you found yourself going to him for almost anything. Almost.

The main difference between the two of you was Bob had told you everything about him. You knew him like a book. Every page studied and memorized. But when he would ask you something about your past, you always managed to slither out of the question. You didn't mean to be so secretive around him. It was more of a reflex at this point. You'd done it with everyone. He was included in that group.

You could tell it hurt him though. Knowing there was some part of you that either didn't trust him enough to know, or maybe just didn't want him to know at all. Hopefully with time you'd be able to open up, not just to him, to everyone. But that's all the two of you could do for now. Hope.

A sign of that coming close had finally appeared, a new impulse crossing your mind. Dating.

For obvious reasons, relationships had never been a top priority for you. But as things were slowing down in your life, you began to feel left out of the "dating in NYC" craze. Without much experience under your belt, you decided to go through the dating app route. That proved to be more challenging than you thought. "I don't think men on here have ever had a conversation with a woman before," you'd complain to Bob or Ava constantly, usually followed by a large eye roll from them.

Lightning seemed to have struck though. On your way home from grocery shopping, you managed to bump into a guy at your bus stop. It was something straight out of a movie, the way the wind knocked of your cap and he had managed to catch it for you. The two of you spent the entire bus ride talking, and he eventually asked you for your number once you reached your stop. Tonight was date night. He had planned a special dinner in the city, and the two of you would go dancing after.

"Are you sure this guy's not like some stalker or something? You are a superhero after all, there's weird fans all over the city," Ava protested. Her and Bob were sitting in your room as you got ready. She sat on your light yellow beanbag on the floor, tossing a crumpled up paper with the address to the restaurant on it into the air. Bob was laying down on your bed, extra quiet today for some reason, staring up at the ceiling.

"He's not, I promise, Bob saw him too, he can vouch for me," you waved her off, looking in your mirror trying to do your makeup. You could see Ava look to Bob behind you through the mirror. She raised her eyebrow at him, which he just shrugged off. "I'd just prefer you not get kidnapped tonight, so try to avoid that if you can," she turned back to you. "Ava, if he's a normal citizen, I'll have zero problems defending myself, if anything happens," you defended. You sprayed some setting spray onto your face, and got up to change into your outfit.

Your bedroom had an attached bathroom, so you went in there to change. Once you closed the door, you took off your current sweats and baggy turtleneck sweater and slipped on your outfit. Your date asked you to go a little more formal than normal first date, so you specially picked out your outfit from your closet: a black boat-neckline midi dress, with a little thigh slit for less formal environments. It was gifted to you a few years back, but you hadn't worn it since. There was one glaring issue you noticed.

Throughout your time in the lab, you had obviously developed some scars. You didn't mind most of them, being electrocution scars, which made for some pretty cool war stories. Photoshoot photographers were particular fans of those. Some scars, however, weren't exactly your favorites. The specific one being a thick, prominent scar, starting at your right collarbone and trailing up to the back of your neck. It was fairly recent, compared to the rest of your scars, so the fading process was far from beginning. It was part of the reason you stuck to turtleneck fashion so much. But with this dress here, it was finally out in the open, something you weren't so sure you were comfortable with.

After convincing yourself though, you were willing to bite the bullet if it meant looking all dolled up for once. After a final examination in the bathroom mirror, you took a step out the door to show off to your friends. Both of them seemed to jump back to the positions they were in before you walked into the bathroom, almost like they were gossiping girls before. But once they noticed you, the air in the room stopped.

Ava was the first one to give out a little supportive holler when you stepped out, getting a little giggle from you. "What are you waiting for, give us a twirl!" she shouted. Obliging, you gave a little curtsey and spin. Turning to Bob, you could see a little smile curling up from this mouth. "So, what do you think?" you asked him, hoping for some words out of him today. "You look beautiful. Really really beautiful." There was a slight tint of melancholy in his words. You believed what he said, that was sincere. But his smile was actively lying to you.

His eyes spoke the truth though. You watched him as his eyes traced the way your dress hugged your body, highlighting all the beautiful parts of you, leaving little to the imagination. You saw his eyes stop at your collarbone, and his smile faded away. Just before you could see his mouth open to ask about it, you jumped right in. "Well, I better get going, I don't wanna miss my train," you frantically said, grabbing your kitten heels and strapping them on.

Ava and Bob followed you out of your room and towards the elevator out of the tower. Ava gave you a tight hug, whispering a little "Text me if you think he's a killer," before letting go. Bob's body seemed to stutter a little bit before giving you a hug. He had been more in control of the void spreading through his touch, but he was still cautious over it. His hugs always felt like home. The way he would squeeze you just the right amount and how well your chin fit into the crook of his neck. His hand sat comfortably just above your hips, with always his pinky finger straying a bit lower and tracing your upper thigh. When he let go he stayed close to you for a second, his eyes just slightly lower than where yours were. "Be safe, okay?' he asked with full sincerity. You nodded and let go just before getting into the elevator. "I will."

~~~~~~~

You rested your back against the elevator, back at the tower and up to your room after the long night. You checked your phone for a time. 2:24 am. Hopefully everyone else would be asleep when you got back.

The date wasn't bad. Not at all. In fact, it was one of the better ones you could remember going on. Dinner was nice and you went down to this jazz bar for some dancing. He walked you back to the tower and the two of you even shared a quick kiss.

So why did you feel so....weird? The circumstances were perfect for a second date. You like the guy, you really did. But something about him kept you from getting truly comfortable with him that night. The little things. The way he insisted to the waiter on splitting the bill, the way you had to stop every taxi for the two of you, the way he'd cut off your sentences. The way he couldn't stop looking at the scar poisoning your neck. That one really got you.

Maybe it was just your anxiety highlighting it, but it seemed every time his eyes would trail away from yours, they would land right on that scar. Like he was trying to subconsciously let you know it was there. As if you didn't have to take the work to try and cover it up every day of your life. That irked you most of all. You felt awful about it, it wasn't his fault it was there. But no matter how hard you tried, whenever you thought about going on a second date with him, you couldn't erase the look in his eyes out of your mind.

As you examined it in the mirror in the elevator, the doors slid open to an empty living room and kitchen floor. You wiped the tiredness off of your face and turned on a dim overhead lamp, setting your purse on the kitchen island to grab a quick water bottle. Your ears perked up when you heard some stirring from the couch area. Following the noise arose a head of shaggy brown hair. Your face softened and smile lifted when you saw his head turn around to find you. "Hi," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. Bob replied with a sleepy "Hey," eyes still lowered.

"Whatcha doing out here, shouldn't you be in bed?" you asked, walking over to the couch. "Couldn't sleep...came out here to city watch and try to get sleepy." Your head turned to the massive windows overlooking the night city, still so alive. Bob let out a small yawn and reached his arm over to where you were standing. You took his hand, allowing him to guide you over to sit next to him on the couch. His position was slouched and comfortable, still half asleep. He rested his head into your shoulder, sending a little nervous shiver into you. "How was it?" he asked, eyes closing. You sighed. "Good." He chuckled under his breath. "What's that for?" you asked, pointing your eyes down to him. "Someone who went on a good date wouldn't just say it was 'good'," he slyly slurred out. Maybe this is why you never see Bob right after he wakes up. This Bob was kind of an asshole.

"What, can I not go on a date that's just 'good'?" you asked, getting slightly mad with him. "Someone as special as you shouldn't have to lower herself to going on dates that are just 'good'." The words trailed off in volume on the way out, almost like he didn't even know they came out in the first place. But you managed to catch them. And they sent butterflies down into your stomach, a pink glow to your cheeks, and a stupid grin to your mouth.

You looked down at him, resting on your shoulder. His body leaned perfectly into yours, filling all the empty space with his own. His delicate hands rested in his lap while his eyelashes tickled the upper parts of his cheek. And his hair, his beautiful hair, curled perfectly at the ends, grazing against the back of your neck with the air of The Watchtower. You could fall asleep with him here for days, in perfect, complete serenity.

"So why was it just 'good'?" he finally asked after what seemed like minutes of silence. You thought to yourself. "Cause I'm not gonna go on a second date." He lifted his head off of your shoulder and looked at him, with a slight concern on his droopy face. "Did something happen?" "No no no, I promise," you quickly shut down the idea. "It's just....." He sat more at attention, rubbing his eyes to try and wake up more. You both turned to look at each other, the sides of your faces resting on the couch cushions. "He was fine, great even....I just...." You tried to find the words to describe what you were feeling. "C'mon honey, talk to me," Bob slipped out, in a deep, sleepy voice that sent waves through you.

"I can't see him being able to deal with me," you finally spoke. "What makes you think that?" You sighed. You sat up a little bit and pulled your hair back behind your neck and lifted up your chin. "You saw this earlier right?" Bob gave a soft hum and a nod in response. "I got this a while back, back when I was still in the labs you saw in my nightmare." His eyes focused in on the scar, trying to make it out with the little light in the room. "I wanted to ask earlier, but I didn't wanna upset you," he spoke. "I know you don't like talking about it." You smiled a little at his ability to know you so well.

"Well, on one of the missions I was sent on back there, I got injured real bad. Broke my clavicle and they could only fix it through surgery. But I wouldn't necessarily call their doctors 'top of the line', so the cleanup was messy." You brushed your hair back onto the scar to cover it up. "One of the many souvenirs they gave me," you attempted to joke. Bob smiled a little bit at it, but was still focused on your skin. "Anyways, I don't like looking at it much, it's one of my uglier scars, and when other people catch it, I can't help but worry about what they're thinking."

"What d'you think he was thinking about?" Bob asked, slouching his head back into the couch to secretly admire you. You slouched back too. "About how much of a piece of work I'm gonna be," you chuckled out, even if the thought made you wanna cry. You could see that same sadness in Bob's eyes as they trailed up to your eyes. You sighed and looked away from him to the window outside. "This is why I don't date," you joked, wiping your face.

"Hey." You looked back at him. "Can I do something I'm gonna regret once I'm more awake?" You raised an eyebrow at the suspicious statement. "Okay." He sat a little closer to you, bringing up a hand to your hair, looking to you for approval. You gave him a soft hum as he pulled the hair behind your neck again, and softly traced his thumb over the scar, leaving goosebumps in its trail.

As gently as he could, he brought his face closer and pressed his lips softly onto your clavicle. Your breath hitched, causing him to bring his face back again. His eyes bore into yours, ready to give an apology if you requested. But your hand encouraged his actions, tangling into the back of his hair and pushing his lips back in.

Bob's lips danced over your scar, as your breath got heavier and hands tugged on his roots in approval. His hands found their way to your hips, caressing you in all the right spots. You fought to keep in any sounds your mouth wanted to let out from his touch. But right as you could feel yourself getting to the good part, Bob placed his final kiss, releasing you as well. You rested your head back as Bob stood up from the couch, lending a hand out to you. "It's late, we can talk more tomorrow, but you need your rest for now." Bob almost seemed to snap out of whatever lustful spell was just over him. Or maybe you took what just happened the wrong way. You tried to process it in your head as you took his hand and stood up with him.

Hand in hand, he led you to your room. As he opened the door and let you inside, he leaned over you on the door frame with one more message: "If a man looks at you and his first thought is of is how much work you'll be, he's no man at all."

~~~~~~~~

His words stuck in your heart for the next few days as the two of you tried to pretend that nothing happened. Drowsy Bob was right, Awake Bob apologized to you profusely the next morning, claiming he had no idea what came over him that night. "....I didn't mind it," you confessed after his apology. Made him blush faster than you thought was humanly possible. After a long, embarrassingly awkward conversation, the two of you decided on an agreement.

Whenever you were feeling bad about yourself, physically specifically, you could go to his room and he'd help you....feel better. You weren't fuck buddies, that was for sure. You just happened to be friends who'd kiss each other's bodies multiple times a week. And it made you absolutely insane.

You couldn't even go to Ava about this, since you and Bob agreed it was best if this was a secretive thing. Truth is, this whole ordeal was making you obsessed with the guy. You couldn't get him out of your head. Him being your roommate only made things worse. You couldn't escape from him. You'd never wanted someone this much before, it was driving you mad.

All the problems in relationships you felt before seemed to disappear with him. Since that night, you found yourself opening up more and more to him. You knew each chapter of each other's lives. And that made you really fucking happy. Having someone you could trust with yourself utterly, wholly, and completely.

The late nights where he'd do nothing but kiss and hold you, like he knew the magic of his touch. But you were greedy. You needed more of him, but all the uncertainty just got in the way.

You knew this wasn't just a thing "friends" did. But not knowing the exact details of how he felt for you kept you from asking for more. What if this was something friends did in his mind? What if the only thing he felt for you was based in lust? You'd rather not have that potentially friendship ruining conversation, so you decided to take the "suffer in silence" route instead.

That wasn't your biggest worry at the moment though. No, that spot in your mind was currently being overshadowed by the bullet wound in your side. You weren't gonna die, your powers would take care of that step for you, but it still hurt like a bullet wound. You'd spent a couple hours on the medbay floor of The Watchtower getting patched up, now on your way up to join the rest of the team.

The minute the elevator doors opened, you were greeted by a giant hug from Alexei, shouting Russian expressions of joy. As endearing as it was, you had to have the rest of the team peel him off of you, as he was two seconds away from opening up your stitches. Once you caught your breath, you greeted the rest of the team, all glad for your recovery. Your smile dropped a little, after scanning the members in the room. "Where's Bob?" you asked. "His therapist wanted to extend his session a little bit today," Bucky answered. You nodded a little to yourself. "You know when he'll be back?" you asked, trying not to sound too needy. "Soon enough," Yelena giggled.

....

"Does he know about..." you gestured to your bandages, slightly pink from any leftover blood. In almost miracle timing, Bob stepped out of the elevator and into your conversation. "Hey, what's-," he started, before looking at you clutching your side. His eyes widened with fear. "Oh my god what happened?!" he shouted, rushing over to you. "It's fine, I'm fine, I just didn't dodge very well today and someone caught me off guard." In combat, you usually tried to avoid the gunslingers and sword masters for hand-to-hand instead. You got more energy from absorbing bullet wounds and cuts, but on a pain scale, you'd rather deal with working up multiple punches to the nose.

As Bob questioned your pain scale, it almost seemed as if the other teammates were slowly leaving the room one by one, until only you two were left in it. The two of you naturally made your way to the couch and talked about your days for what seemed like hours. You went over battle strategies, he debriefed about his appointment. Eventually, noticing the sun going down, you started to become aware of all the dirt and blood still sticking to your body. "Um, can I use your tub? I need to get the day off me before I start peeling my skin off," you joked, standing up off of the couch. "Sure, whatever you need," he insisted, getting up with you. The only teammates with bathtubs instead of showers in their rooms were Bob and Bucky, and in all honesty, you just wanted to be near Bob's presence right now.

The mixture of dried blood, sweat, and dirt stuck your suit straight onto your skin as you made a painful attempt to peel it off. You dropped the clothes to the floor, and examined the damage in your mirror, unraveling all your littered bandages. Your stitches seemed to be doing okay, but the rest of the little cuts and bruises on you made themselves apparent. Your powers were useful in the moment, but damn did the aftercare suck.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you walked over to Bob's room, leaving a soft knock on the door. A freshly bathed Bob opened up the door, now in his own baggy pajamas, his curls still wet and dripping. "I just wanted a to take a quick soak before you got in, I got a new round of hot water running for you." You gave him a little smile and stepped inside; he closed the door behind you. "Thanks." You walked into the steaming bathroom, tub filled to the brim with hot water like he said. Bob's bathroom was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled just like him; eucalyptus and peppermint oil, incense cones, and a touch of his cologne. It calmed you down almost immediately, and enough for you to ask your question.

"Can you...uh...help me while I'm in there?" you nervously asked. He raised his eyebrow a little bit at the question. "I-It just hurts to turn a little and I need to reach some spots on my back." He looked you over while he deliberated. "I don't wanna sound rude or anything but...you sure you're okay with me....seeing you?" he whispered that last little part. "I'm wearing a bathing suit under here, I don't mind you seeing that at least," you replied, anticipating his concern. "Oh....okay, yeah sure," he replied, scratching the back of his head.

You dropped your towel and placed it hanging over the sink. The black bikini you were wearing covered enough of you, but still allowed all your injuries to be visible. That first step into the tub was heavenly, the heat rolling down off your spine with a slight, but welcome tinge of pain. You closed your eyes and melted down into the water, Bob smiling at your relaxation. "God, I needed this," you breathed out. Bob walked up closer to you, sitting on the edge of the tub.

You sat there for a minute, body absorbing the heat and releasing the built up tension in your muscles from the day. Once you finally opened your eyes, you found Bob's eyes grazing over your body. "What is it?" you asked. A stupid grin found its way to his face, as he readjusted himself to begin helping you. "Nothing, don't worry."

Bob took a nearby loofa and his body wash, about to squeeze some onto it before you put your hand out. "This is gonna sound weird....can you use your hands?" You didn't bother giving an explanation, it wouldn't change the implications of that request. Bob gave a little nod. "Wait just, give me a sec." He quickly got up out of the room, closing the door behind him. You sat there within your own thoughts. Fuck, was that too much? you thought to yourself, praying you didn't scare him off.

After a few anxious minutes, Bob opened up the door, leaving you with a sight that made your heart stop.

He had traded in his pajamas for a pair of swim shorts. You had to fight to keep your jaw from going slack at the sight of him without a shirt on. He wasn't kidding, that serum really did do a lot of work.

First of all, you had seen his arm muscles before, frequently on display whenever he would wear a short sleeve shirt. But paired with his perfectly plumped chest, carved abs, and toned thighs, it was enough to kill a horse. Worst of all however, was his swim boxers, with a very flawed detail: they were about two sizes too small, and you couldn't tell if Bob was aware or not, but you could see it. It was bigger than you thought. You would need a tranquilizer to hide the blush on your face right now.

"I figured it'd be easier to just get in and help, and this is my only pair of trunks.....is it too much?" So he didn't know, huh. You swallowed back any urges you had and sat up a little bit more in the tub. "No, you're fine," you said, pushing your body back to make room for him in the small tub. He shuffled up and gently placed his legs in one by one, sinking in in front of you.

Bob took the body wash again, pouring some and lathering it between his hands. He motioned you to turn around so he could get your back area. Your back showed him about five scattered cuts and scratches and two large bruises by your lats. You could hear his breath shake a bit as he got closer to you. Naturally, you straightened out your back for him to work with a better canvas.

A sigh instinctively came out of your mouth when his hands came down on you, lathering the soap over your skin. His hands worked into you like putty, spreading the bubbles out evenly onto you. The callouses scratched onto your skin, and you felt a deep heat brewing into your chest. It only grew stronger when his fingers started digging into your muscles. Pain oozed out and away as his thumbs worked out the knots in your upper back. You had to bring a hand up to your mouth to keep a pleasurably moan from slipping out.

The deeper his fingers got into you, the more your body began to twitch, itching for more. The water sloshed around a little when you began to move back into him. And thats when you felt it. Your breath hitched when you caught it. He was achingly big, and you could tell by the throbbing you felt on your lower back. He must've noticed you felt it, since his fingers stopped moving. The two of you sat there for a minute in a hot tension.

Eventually, he picked up a cup sitting outside of the tub, filled it with the bathwater, and poured the soap off of your back. Putting it down, he inched slightly closer to you, his hands finding their way again back to your hips like so many times before. "Tell me where it hurts," he whispered into your ear. You tried to shake out your shivers and be honest with him, your mind needing him in one place but your body wanting him everywhere.

You took the safe route. You needed to keep control of yourself. As long as you could at least.

You pointed to a spot along your spine where one of the bruises lay. "Bend forward a little bit," he spoke, in that low, sultry voice again, almost commanding you. You listened. You moved. But unfortunately, you couldn't keep the moan inside you anymore when his lips grazed and kissed over the bruise. You could keep it quiet enough for him to, hopefully, not hear it however.

Your body adjusted and moved to fit him as his lips trailed up your spine, and eventually to the nape of your neck. He sucked on the tender skin, desperation in its trail. Before he could get too carried away though, he pulled himself off of you. His hot breath stuck to your back, as he took a moment to splash some of the steaming water onto his face. After clearing his throat, he asked you to turn back around and face him, which you did of course.

Finding his face, you could finally see the display of his emotions. The main one: a drunken look in his eyes to desperately hide a growing lust. You could tell. It was the same look in yours. Trying to continue with the bath, Bob took some more body was and drizzled it out onto your arms and upper chest. Sure, you could reach those parts of yourself fine, but what's wrong with letting a man take care of you every once in a while. And if this was how he was gonna do it, you'd be glad to give in.

He massaged the soap into your skin again, relaxing your tense arm muscles, a little gentler around your chest and collarbone area. He pressed a deep kiss into your clavicle scar, a tick for him at this point. His eyes stayed down on you, examining the way your skin fit onto your body. You brought your hand to meet his, currently pressing gentle circles onto your tricep. His eyes found a nice spot, staring at your lips, with you back at his. Trembles started to infect his hands and you could even see a slight quiver stain his lip.

"Does it hurt...anywhere here?" he gasped out. Taking the opportunity, you slowly brought your finger up to the tiniest cut you had on your chin. Smiling, he went in, almost taking your entire chin into his mouth. Your hands wrapped around his neck as his mouth moved to press sloppy kisses into your jawline. But that's all where he stayed. And you needed more than that.

Enough with the teasing, you let go of his neck and took his face in your hands, pulling his mouth away from you. He looked at you, beautiful, deep blue puppy eyes mixed with questioning and fear. "Do you remember what I told you Bob? When I was helping you get ready for the conference?" The fear left his eyes, as he realized what you were playing with here. "Remind me...." You smirked at his words. "When are you ever gonna stop being afraid of me?" you asked, eyes glued to his lips. He dropped his head and let out a defeated laugh. "It's never been you that I'm scared of....it's always been myself," he said, lifting his head back up and closer to yours. "And why's that?" The corner of his mouth lifted up as his hand went to cup your jaw, caressing it with his thumb. "Because I have to keep myself from tearing off my clothes and taking you in the living room each time you walk through that elevator."

Before you could respond to what he said, your body started moving on its own, slamming your lips into his, sloshing water everywhere. The kiss you shared was needy, hungry, and slow. Different from the ones he left littered over your body in the past. What surprised you the most about it was what fueled it. This was not a lustful kiss, which is what you had expected from him. This kiss was filled with a pure, tender, and firing love the two of you have silently shared for each other for the past few months.

His hands wrapped around your waist, hugging you closer into him and onto his laugh, where his raging erection made itself more apparent by the second. "You need me that bad, huh?" you teased, breaking away from the makeout and grinding your clothed cunt against it. Bob nodded profusely, leaning back into you to chase your lips, which you pulled back from. You bit your lip and smiled, wooed by his desperation for you. "Someone's excited, huh?" you joked. "Well, I'd rather not get waterlogged here, so how about we dry off, get these swimsuits off, and...." you leaned close to his ear. "...you can take me on your bed any way you want, how's that sound loverboy?" you bit down onto his earlobe

Bob let out a whispered moan and dropped his head into your shoulder, pressing soft kissed into it. "Yes, please," he replied. Before getting up though, he pulled you into a close hug, which you returned gladly. Bob may have a secret, shameful side you didn't know about, but at the end of the day, you couldn't take the lover out of him.

The two of you stepped out of the bathtub, drained the water, and took your towels to dry yourselves off. Once you were dried, you opened the bathroom door, releasing the steamy air into the rest of Bob room. The cold tinged both your skin, as you walked hand in hand to his bed. You were first to undress, slipping off your bikini bottoms and untying your top off. Bob could've sworn his life flashed before his eyes at that moment, as he admired your beautiful body. He quickly kicked off his trunks, allowing his cock to finally spring out to life. He playfully ran up and tackled you onto his bed, kissing into you neck as you let out playful giggles.

His mouth eventually found its way up to yours, as the two of you slipped each other's tongues into your mouths. His hands gently swept you underneath him on the bed, still careful with your injury. "I-fuck, I wanna taste you," he gasped out while you sucked marks onto his neck. "Do it," you whispered into his neck, giving it a little nibble.

He giggled to himself, as his mouth traced kissed down your neck, sternum, and stomach, all the way down to your hips. You lifted your head to look down at him. He smiled up at you as his hands grabbed into your thighs, bending your legs up. His thumb grazed along your leaking folds, already sending shivers into you. "You're so....beautiful," you could hear him whisper just before leaving his first of many soft kisses on your slit. His tongue slowly worked itself over your clit, as one of your hands found its way down into the roots of his hair.

For leverage, you pulled slight tugs onto his hair, which drove Bob bananas. Each pull only drove him further into your pussy, absorbing his own whines and moans. His tongue worked over each of your lips, memorizing the way it made his taste buds react. You tasted so good, he could sit here eating you for hours. Looking down at the sight underneath you only pushed you closer to the edge. His messy, slightly damp curls intertwined with your fingers, as he sloppily ate your pussy, juice dripping down the sides of his mouth. Game changer moment was when he brought in his digits, curling his pointer and middle finger into your swollen cunt.

An exaggerated moan of his name left your mouth, as your hips buckled into his hand, begging for more. "C'mon, you're doing so good for me baby, keep it up," he spoke into your inner thigh, leaving a little love bite in there that left you biting your tongue. As his fingers worked inside you, you wriggled over the sheets, trying to chase an oncoming high. "You're so perfect sweetheart, so perfect for me," he continuously praised.

The twitch in your lower stomach grew more powerful with the seconds, as fingers continued to hit your walls perfect, his teeth grazed your clit, and hot breath washed over you. "Bob, I-I," you started to moan out. "Do it for me baby, come for me here."

As the high washed over your body, a final moan rushed out, paired with another hip buckle and legs a twitching mess as Bob kissed into your pussy. Your juice coated all over his fingers, which added more growth to his member, if that was even possible right now. His fingers slid perfectly out of your aching pussy and into his own mouth, as he got a better taste for you. A smile curled its way onto his mouth as he sat back on his knees, watching you come down from your high.

Bob couldn't help but crawl back up to you. He had to watch this moment with his own eyes. Your heavy breaths hit his face as he leaned on his elbows to perfectly lay over him. Your cheeks glowed a heavy pink as you came down from your orgasm. "Was that good?" he asks. You couldn't help but let out at laugh at the question. Good? Did he see what happened just now? "You're adorable," you validated, love-drunk eyes gazing into his own.

He let a breath out of his nose, and dropped his whole body weight down onto you. You cried out in a fake pain and your body absorbed his heat into you. "Get off, you're killing me!" you joked. He shook his head vigorously. "No, you gotta do it yourself," he played back. You giggled and used whatever strength you had left over to try and push him off. To no avail of course. "Alright, you gotta help just a little, you're pure muscle sweetie." Bob sighed and lifted his body off of you just enough for you to roll him to the other side of the bed.

Before he could move again, you jumped on top of him, placing your own dead weight on top of him now. "You see, I'd play along now, but I'm scared I'd toss you off the bed," he said. True, best not to play games like this with someone who has super strength. "Ugh, no fair," you complained, dropping your head into his neck. You heard his awkwardly adorable laugh, making your heart soar, as he scratched the back of your head.

"C'mere, let me see you," he asked gently. You lifted your head up, a fake frown plastered on your face. The act didn't last long though when you saw his face.

The way he looked at you right now was the way girls had dreamed about since they were kids. His eyes softened with pure adoration for you, with his mouth curled into the dumbest grin. He spoke your name in a question. "Yeah?" He brought his hand up to cup your jaw, which you nuzzled your cheek into as his thumb traced over your lips. "I....I think..." he trailed off. "What is it?" His smile turned slightly more serious. "I think I love you." He paused. "I know I do."

If it weren't for his body heat grounding you into the moment, you would've sworn you were dreaming right now. Everything you've ever wanted was right here. It was all in him. It was him.

"I know I love you too."

The giddy look on his face could set you free, as both his hands grabbed your cheeks to pull you into his kiss stained lips. The two of you continued to kiss and roll all over the bed, as you prepared to continue the rest of your love filled night.

~~~~~~

Sun rays streamed through the breaks in the blinds of Bob's room. Your eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness as you awoke. Wrapped up in his sheets, blooming with his scent, you began to remember the dreamlike events of the night before. You turned to the other side of the bed, and there he was.

Like a painting, Bob laid next to you, still off in his hopefully pleasant dreams. Loose strand of hair fell in front of his sleeping face, his mouth slightly agape to breathe, still swollen lips. In fact, all of your souvenirs from the night before laid over him: scattered hickeys along his neck and shoulders, and nail scratches peeking over from his upper back. It was perfect. He was perfect.

His breath readjusted as he began to stir a bit, and finally, his lashes fluttered open to see you. A childlike smile painted your face as you saw his sleepy eyes adjust to you. "Good morning sleepyhead," you pressed into the tip of his nose as you kissed it. He smiled an eyes closed one to you. "Morning honey." You had found out last night how much of a pet-name user Bob was. You didn't mind at all. It only helped seal the "it feels like i'm in a movie" idea for you. "How'd you sleep," he asked with his eyes still closed. "Good, great even," you hummed. "And you?" His eyes opened and he leaned in closer to you to kiss you silly. "Best in years, honest truth."

After some morning talk, Bob got up to go to the kitchen, leaving you with some extra minutes for sleep. When he returned, it was with a plate of breakfast on a tray just for the two of you. It took a miracle for you not to jump over the bed and onto him then and there. The plate for you included all your favorites: blueberry Eggos, orange slices, and eggs. These weren't your usual eggs though. "I know you like them burnt, but by the time I remembered, I had taken them out of the pan and these were the last two," he apologized.

You inspected the eggs with your fork. It scared you a little, but you'd rather risk a stomach ache than hurt Bob's feelings right now. And plus, it was time to finally grow up. Taking them onto your fork, you took a deep breath, and put them in your mouth.

Chew, chew, chew. Swallow.

God, these were so much better than rubbery, burnt eggs. "These are so fucking good Bob, oh my god," you salivated. He smiled that dumb grin and climbed into bed next to you, as the two of you continued the rest of your morning together. It was nice to know you didn't have to burn your eggs anymore. The other side was better than you could've imagined.

a.n: AND THATS IT i hope you liked it lol. this is by FARRRRR the longest fic i've ever written and it took like a week and a half to write rip so i hope you all enjoyed it. please leave a note or interact if you did, i'd really appreciate it. alright thank you so much again, catch you on the next one BYEEEEEE

#bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #the void x reader #bob reynolds #bob #sentry #the void #thunderbolts #mcu #mcu smut #mcu fanfic #marvel mcu #marvel #marvel x reader #thunderbolts x reader #the new avengers #fanfic #x reader

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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Note

Here my out. I don't have a solid concept other than Bob finds a sketchbook filled with supersuit concepts so he starts flipping through it and it turns into pictures of the team and then pictures of just him. Anyway reader finds him looking at it and somehow the conversation ends up like "sorry, you're just really pretty in the sunlight. I mean, you're pretty in any light." I just need someone to tell Bob he's pretty 😭

Velour and Velcro

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader

Summary: You have a hobby of drawing and designing things in your spare time, one day Bob stumbles across your sketchbook and discovers something surprising.

Warnings: Semi Spoilers for Thunderbolts I guess cause Bob. No crazy warnings apart from that partners, just super fluffy, super sweet stuff happening here, with like a hint of intimacy :)

Author’s Note: Thought I’d make a cute little one-shot for today as I’ve been focusing on a lot of my bigger works and getting those prepared for posting (there’s not a lot of editing to do, just want to go through it with a fine toothed comb.). Hope y’all enjoy this one though!

Word Count: 5,939

The common room of the compound had been a war zone not even less than an hour ago.

The aftermath of game night still lingered in the air like smoke after a fireworks show–explosive, and borderline destructive. A half-empty bowl of popcorn had been flung across the room at some point, scattering kernels into the shag rug. Three pillows had been used as makeshift shields. Walker had accused Yelena of cheating, and Yelena had accused Walker of being a “living embodiment of a root canal.” Ava had sat back and watched the chaos, while Bucky and Alexei had both quietly removed themselves to get their respective alcoholic beverages–Bucky’s was whiskey, Alexei’s was vodka.

Through it all though, you had sat curled into the corner of the oversized grey cloud couch–legs folded up, sketchbook braced against your thighs, pencil and pen moving in quick, distracted arcs while chaos was blooming around you.

Bob had taken refuge in the open kitchen where he would be able to hide slightly from the chaos, and bake without being totally bothered by people.

The cake he made had started as a peace offering and became a full-blown stress bake the moment he heard someone scream “YOU CAN’T STACK DRAW FOURS” with the kind of fury usually reserved for battlefield decisions. The rich scent of chocolate and vanilla had poured into the air, mingling with the salt and butter from the popcorn, and the faint citrus of someone’s spilled soda that still clung to the coffee table.

Now, the kitchen was dark. The last flicker of the oven light had gone out. Most of the team had vanished to their quarters, trailing groggy grumbles and sore losers’ muttering. The common room had finally settled, breathing again after the riot of laughter and arguing had burned itself out.

Only a single lamp remained on beside the couch, casting warm, golden rays over the cushions and the floor beneath. The glow hit the coffee table in soft shapes, glinting off an abandoned spoon and catching in the tiny rainbow oil spill of a spilled cup of tea. Outside the windows, the city buzzed on–he could hear everything even though he was eighty levels up above the streets; car horns honking, people’s laughter, the booming bass coming from clubs.

Bob sat on the edge of the couch, right where you had been earlier.

The cushions were still warm, and your blanket was slipping off onto the floor. And there–tucked beneath one of the throw pillows–was your sketchbook.

He had picked it up with every intention of returning it to your room, but it felt so warm in his hands, and familiar because it was yours–the temptation was great.

You took it everywhere with you–mission briefings, airport lounges, quiet rooftops. He had watched you doodle in the margins of reports, on napkins, sometimes on your own hands when you ran out of space. He’d seen you sketch everything from tactical armor blueprints to a cartoon of Alexei in a tutu–as per his request because he thought you would be able to execute it perfectly…He still has it hanging in his room. Bob admired your creativity, how you were able to conjure anything up onto paper without really thinking about it, and the pride on your face when you made someone laugh with a sketch of them. You took joy in the little things, and Bob loved that about you…It was one of the multitude of things that made him grow so attached to you in such a short period of time as well.

So when he flipped the book open, just to see what tonight had looked like through your eyes…Bob couldn’t help but smile.

The first page hit him like a kaleidoscope–an explosion of rough linework, little notes crammed into the margins, and the chaotic charm that could only belong to you. A suit with heat-reactive armor filled the center, the panels labeled and crosshatched, but the entire thing was surrounded by doodles of stars and question marks. A sticky note had been pressed into the corner with a scrawl that read:

“Would this melt? Ask Ava. Or throw it into a bonfire and find out.”

Tucked under the edge of the next page was a scrap of metallic blue fabric–shiny, a little torn at the edge, maybe scavenged from a prototype–and beside it, you’d written:

“Love this for night missions. Or roller disco.”

He flipped another page.

More sketches. Some wildly technical–complete with annotations, chemical compound breakdowns, tensile strength estimates. Others looked like pure fantasy. There was one labeled “Bucky but make it James Bond” with a tuxedo that clearly had at least three concealed weapons built into it and a bowtie that doubled as a GPS tracker. Right beneath it, you’d scribbled:

“He’s going to hate this. It’s perfect.”

Next to it:

“New project idea: suit that deploys snacks for the hangry people on the team.”

There were fingerprints smudged across some pages. A couple places where tea had clearly splattered–rings of soft brown staining the edges, a few ink trails bleeding where it had touched the lines. Some of the pages had been ripped out and taped back in, corners folded and unfolding like they’d been touched again and again.

It wasn’t just a sketchbook. It was a journal. A blueprint. A scrapbook of your brain.

On one page, tucked into a hand-stitched envelope you’d glued to the inside of the paper, was a tiny Polaroid of Yelena fast asleep during a mission debriefing, mouth slightly open, arms crossed. You’d captioned it:

“Her highness at rest. Do not wake unless you want to be attacked.”

There was another one a few pages later: Alpine in full loaf mode on top of Bucky’s clean laundry pile. Her eyes were mid-blink, deeply unimpressed with the camera. Beneath it:

“Make Bucky a serious portrait of her for his b-day. Buy oil paints and a heavy frame. She deserves it.”

Bob laughed quietly to himself, breath fogging a little against the thick silence of the room. The sketchbook was warm in his lap now, heavy with secrets, and he felt like he’d broken into something sacred–but you’d also left it there, hadn’t you?

Part of him wondered if that was on purpose.

He flipped again. Slower now.

The sketches were less structured as he turned the pages. More personal. Little candid moments rendered in soft lines and shaded pencil.

Ava with her nose buried in a novel, curled under three blankets in the common room.

Walker fast asleep with his mouth open and one sock half-off from Alpine pulling at it, labeled “he snores like a wood chipper.”

Alexei doing squats with a few books balanced on his shoulders like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Bucky standing in the hall with a grocery bag slung over his shoulder and a faint smile on his face–captured like you’d seen it only once and hadn’t wanted to forget.

He flipped again.

Still more familiar faces—moments frozen in graphite and ink.

Yelena dancing alone in the kitchen, socked feet sliding on the tile. Ava perched on the compound balcony, wind tangling her hair as she stared out at the horizon. Walker and Alexei arm-wrestling over a stack of pancakes. Even Val, drawn from behind, pacing a briefing room with her phone clutched in one hand like it was a weapon.

Page after page of everyone else. Little snapshots of the people you spent your days with, drawn in affection and detail. Not always flattering, but always seen.

And Bob…

He wasn’t anywhere.

He turned the page again.

There it was–a suit design labeled SENTRY (high altitude / max durability). It was stunning. Sleek. Reinforced in all the right places. Smart. Sharp. Sharp in a way that felt distant from the rest. You’d even drawn it over a silhouette that wasn’t quite him—too tall, too broad, too composed.

Your handwriting was still there though. All the notes, all the care.

“Reduce friction on shoulder seams. They always leave marks.”

“Flexible core armor. He moves quieter than you’d expect.”

“Lining should be soft. He won’t ask, but he hates the scratchy stuff.”

Bob stared at the page, chest tightening.

You paid attention. You always paid attention. But this didn’t feel like the others. It wasn’t him. It was the idea of him. What he wore. What he could withstand. What the Sentry needed to be.

The ache bloomed slowly in his chest, quiet and a little hollow.

Because maybe you didn’t draw him the way you drew them. Maybe to you, he was mostly suit specs and duty. Not laughter. Not stillness. Not warmth. Maybe you only looked at him in relation to what he could do–not who he was when he wasn’t glowing.

He turned the page anyway. Resigned.

And something fell.

A loose sheet slipped from the binding–like it had been tucked there with a kind of reluctant care. Not meant to be lost. But maybe not meant to be found so easily either.

Bob caught it midair.

And his breath left him.

It was him.

Drawn entirely in pencil, soft and textured. He was sitting on the common room windowsill in profile, knees pulled up, chin resting on his arm. The city behind him glowed like a galaxy, but the light you’d shaded most carefully wasn’t the skyline. It was the way it spilled across his shoulder and cheek.

Sunlight. Or something that felt like it.

He stared at it, stunned.

There was no suit. No armor. Just Bob. Just quiet.

He flipped the page.

Another sketch.

Bob on the rooftop, hoodie pulled tight around his shoulders, the wind ruffling his hair. He was mid-laugh. The kind of laugh that closed his eyes, tilted his head back. You’d captured the movement like you hadn’t wanted to forget a single detail. And again–there was light. Sketchy, warm, bleeding across the horizon and catching in his smile.

He flipped again. Faster now.

There he was–dozing on the Quinjet, arms crossed, sun pouring through the window and across the bridge of his nose.

There–leaning against the railing in the compound garden, hair mussed, holding a mug. His silhouette edged in early morning glow.

There–half-turned toward you in the middle of a conversation, eyes soft, lips parted. Lit from the side like you’d drawn him straight from memory. Every version of him surrounded by brightness. Like you couldn’t separate him from light even if you tried.

The ache in his chest cracked open into something else.

Wonder.

Disbelief.

Hope, soft and new.

He turned one last page.

This time, it was just his face. Close-up. No background. No distraction. His eyes were open–looking just slightly off to the side, like he was listening. A small crease between his brows, his lips parted as if he’d just started to speak. The light hit only one side of his face, casting the rest in gentle shadow.

And under it, scrawled in your familiar, almost apologetic handwriting:

“I don’t know why I always draw him in the sun. Maybe because that’s how I see him…My Golden Boy.”

Bob stared at the words; My Golden Boy.

His heart thumped once, hard–then stuttered like it was trying to reset itself, like it completely forgot its job. The breath caught behind his ribs trembled, and slowed when it left him. He wasn’t used to seeing himself like this–not as the Sentry, not even as himself…But as someone you looked at with wonder. With affection…With light.

He pressed his hand gently to the page, fingers trembling slightly as if the graphite might smear. His name wasn’t written anywhere, but it didn’t have to be. It was all him. The way you’d drawn the softness in his expression. The warm shadows. The quiet tension in his brow that only surfaced when he was thinking too hard and trying not to let it show.

He could still feel the echo of your voice in the caption, even though he hadn’t heard it out loud.

Maybe because that’s how I see him…

Bob’s fingertips were still hovering over the page–his page–when he heard the quiet creak of the hallway floorboards.

He sat bolt upright.

And then you appeared in the doorway.

Fresh from the shower.

Your maroon robe clung to your shoulders, cinched loosely at the waist, and the dim light from the lamp pooled over your damp collarbones and down the glisten of your chest like water still hadn’t finished tracing its path across you. The robe stuck slightly to your skin in places, hinting at curves and damp warmth beneath. Your hair was wet, curling and dripping at the ends, your legs bare and gleaming from the knee down. You looked soft. Blurred around the edges from heat and water. And the way your eyes swept the room like you’d just remembered something important made Bob feel like the oxygen had been sucked out of the compound.

“Oh,” You said, eyes landing on him, then on the sketchbook. Your lips curled into a sly, sleepy smile. “Caught you red-handed…”Bob opened his mouth. No sound came out.

You stepped into the light, unbothered, tugging the robe closed just slightly more as you approached.

“Sorry,” You murmured, mock whispering like you were letting him in on a secret, “Forgot I left it out here. I usually hide my embarrassing fanart in my room.”

He blinked, surprised by how casual you sounded. “This isn’t—this isn’t embarrassing.”

“Oh no?” You asked, arching a brow. “Not even the page where I drew a suit that dispenses emergency pizza rolls?” He let out a breath of a laugh, eyes dropping to the sketchbook that was still open in his lap.

“I d-don’t think I made i-it to that page.” He muttered, his voice soft and nervous. He was always nervous around you, and his stutter became worse when you were around him. Bob swallowed hard, fingers still curled protectively around the edges of the sketchbook as you settled onto the couch beside him, tucking your smooth, bare legs up under you with ease. The robe shifted again–just slightly–but it was enough to make the air leave his lungs slowly, like they were also resigning from working. You noticed his sudden stillness and smirked like you knew exactly what you were doing.

”You really didn’t get to the pizza roll suit?” You asked, kissing your teeth, “What a tragedy. It’s probably the most important contribution I’ve made to modern tactical gear.” Bob let out a shaky laugh, feeling it catch in his chest briefly. You smelled like fresh citrus, like someone had cut up lemons and limes and saved the skin and sprinkled sugar on them. You always smelled sweet to him, and now with the close proximity it was apparent that it was definitely a mixture of your natural scent and a lotion of some kind that gave you that essence.

“I-I’d wear the pizza roll suit,” He started, “If i-it meant I got to be in your s-sketchbook more often.” You tilted your head at him, eyes sweeping his face with a smirk that softened the edges of your mouth.

”Bob Reynolds, are you flirting with me?” Bob’s face went pink almost instantly. It wasn’t a quick flush, either–it bloomed slowly, like heat rising from the collar of his shirt to the tips of his ears. His mouth opened, then closed again, like he was cycling through a thousand possible replies and discarding every single one.

“I–uh–n-no–” He stammered, then gave up with a breathy laugh. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook and then quickly away, like it might catch fire if he stared too long. You tilted your head, grinning softly.

“I like it,” You murmured, and your voice was quieter now. Gentler. “You, flustered. It’s…Sweet.”

Bob’s eyes widened slightly, as though he didn’t know what to do with a word like that in your mouth–like it wasn’t meant for someone like him. He glanced down, fumbling for something safe to say, but his gaze caught on the sketch again. The one you knew he’d been looking at.

“That one,” You said, following his eyes. Your voice dipped low. “It’s one of my best.” He looked up at you slowly.

“Why do y-you call me that?” He asked, almost a whisper. His hand brushed lightly over the corner of the page. “‘G-Golden boy.’”

You shifted beside him, your knee brushing his. The robe slipped a little on your shoulder but you didn’t fix it. Instead, you leaned in slightly, voice so soft it nearly caught on the warmth between you.

“Because you look pretty in the sunlight,” You responded, like it was the simplest truth in the world. The words lodged somewhere between his ribs and his throat, reverberating through him like soft thunder. He didn’t know how to hold them. They weren’t something he’d ever been given before–not like this, not in a tone that curled with heat and truth and something dangerously close to want.

You were so close he could feel the steam from your shower radiating off your skin, could see the droplets still clinging to the edge of your collarbone, the damp sheen painting your clavicle in a way that made his mouth dry. And then you tilted your head, eyes catching the lamp’s glow like they were catching him, and with a sultry little smile.

“For the record though…You look pretty in any lighting. But the sunlight just does something to you…” It was spoken like sin and silk. Like worship. Bob looked at you like you’d peeled the sky back and let the sun touch just him.

Your words lingered in the air like smoke after something mass–You look pretty in any lighting…But the sunlight just does something to you–and he was burning from the inside out. Blushing so deep it felt inhuman, like even his bones had turned a soft shade of pink. The warmth of your voice, the way you leaned in just enough to let the intimacy rest on the space between you—it was unraveling him. Gently. Completely.

His throat bobbed. His breath shook. And then, barely above a whisper, he answered:

“I think…I only look l-like because of the way you see me…”

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t practiced. It fell out of him soft and raw, stripped of armor, the kind of honesty that only exists between two people sitting too close in a quiet room.

And you smiled.

Not the teasing kind, not the cocky kind–but a slow, molten thing that curled at the edges of your mouth like you were letting him see something private. Something treasured.

”Do you want a live demo?” She asked, glancing at the sketchbook, before returning your gaze to his. Bob’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyebrows raised slightly, confusion and panic blooming all at once in his eyes like twin stars flaring to life.

“I–uh, I–I don’t–I mean, y-you don’t have to–”The words stumbled out, all jagged and half-formed, tumbling over one another in a panic that came from hope. From longing. From the quiet, desperate part of him that had spent so many nights dreaming of being this close to you and never once dared imagine it could feel like this.

You smiled again–soft and amused, but there was nothing mocking in it. If anything, there was kindness there. Heat. Want.

“Relax, golden boy,” You murmured, rising from the couch with an easy grace that made his stomach twist. You crossed to the low coffee table, brushing past the old Uno cards and empty mugs and remnants of popcorn carnage, and picked up your favorite pen from the chaos. As you turned back toward him, the lamp caught the curve of your throat, the warmth on your cheeks, and the dampness that lined your collarbone–and Bob swore he’d never seen anything more radiant in his life.

“It’s not a big deal,” You said gently, as though you weren’t walking him toward the edge of a moment that would burn into the rest of his existence. And then–slowly, deliberately–you crossed the room to him again.

Your hand found his chest.

Not forceful. Not hesitant. Just sure. Steady.

Your palm rested right over his heart–where it was pounding, thunderous under his ribs like it wanted to climb out just to get to you–and then you pushed. Softly. Gradually. Until Bob let himself be moved, shoulders sinking back into the plush cushions, legs parting slightly for balance, arms trembling where they rested at his sides.

You bit your lip–just a little–concentrating, maybe. Or maybe just savoring the moment, the way he looked with his head tilted up–admiring you. Awestruck. Unmoored.

Then you reached for the sketchbook still balanced on his lap, sliding it away gently, like it was no longer needed–because what you were about to draw wasn’t on paper.

Bob didn’t have time to ask what came next.

You climbed onto him.

One knee, then the other. Thighs bracketing his hips. Bare skin to soft cotton. You moved like water–like gravity had chosen you as its favorite–and then you settled, slow and devastating, into his lap.

Bob’s breath left him in a rush.

A whimper, almost. A sound he hadn’t meant to make.

His hands gripped the edge of the couch like they might keep him from floating away. Every part of you pressed against him now–your thighs warm and damp from your shower, the robe parting just enough to reveal the bare skin of your chest, your breath brushing his cheeks. The heat of you–your weight, your scent, your nearness–it made everything else disappear.

Time bent.

You were straddling him like you were meant to live there. Like he was built for this exact moment. And you were close. So close. He could see the tiny beads of water still clinging to the fine hairs at your temples. The curve of your bottom lip. The way your eyes searched his face with an intensity that made him feel naked–not in body, but in soul.

You rested the sketchbook on his stomach, the spine nestled against the slow rise and fall of his breath.

Then you leaned in.

“Don’t move,” You whispered, the pen now poised in your hand. “I want to remember this expression. The one where you look like you don’t know if you’re dreaming.”

Bob swallowed. Hard.

His voice, when it came, cracked like light through stained glass.

“I-I don’t think I am. But if I am, please…Don’t let me wake up yet.” His breath stuttered in his chest, shallow and tremoring, and his hands clenched tighter around the edge of the couch–white-knuckled, desperate. Like if he let go, he might reach for you. Might pull you closer. Might ruin this moment with the sheer want bleeding out of him.

Because he was trying not to think about your legs, draped warm over his thighs.

Not to think about the dip of your robe, the way it shifted every time you breathed.

Not to think about your scent curling around him like a memory he hadn’t earned.

And especially not to think about the way you looked at him–as if he was art already. As if he was worthy of being captured.

But God, he could feel everything.

The press of you against him. The delicate weight of the sketchbook rising and falling on his stomach like it had synced with his breath. And your hand–your hand was moving, slow and fluid, sketching something onto the page with such focus that it made him ache.

You were so close he could see the way your lashes kissed your cheeks when you looked down. The way your mouth curved softly in concentration. And still, his gaze drifted–devotional and restless. First to the hollow of your throat. Then to the curve of your knee. Then back to your mouth like it was something sanctified. Forbidden.

You glanced up and caught his eyes, smiling.

“You’re fidgeting,” You murmured, the pad of your thumb smudging a line across the paper. “What are you thinking about?” Bob could feel his throat tighten a bit, as he coughed a bit. His fingers spasming against the couch cushion.

”I-I’m not,” He whispered, too fast to sound convincing. Your brow arched, slowly.

”No? That blush says otherwise.” He could feel his cheeks grow hotter beneath your stare as he looked down at your hands, “Whatever is on your mind…Better tell me now…Or else I’ll have to draw you with steam coming out of your ears. Might ruin the composition.” You added, sweeping long graceful lines across the page. Bob’s throat worked around a sound that didn’t quite make it out. He shifted beneath you, breath fluttering through parted lips, and sighed.

“I-I…Y-You’re just…” He trailed off, blinked hard, and took a deep breath before continuing, “Y-you’re r-really close…”

Your pen paused mid-stroke. That tiny smile flickered again across your lips–mischievous, but not unkind.

“So that’s what your fidgeting is about, hm?” You asked, cocking your head just slightly as if inspecting him from a new angle. “All this tension just because I’m close?” You dragged the tip of the pen lightly across the paper again–nothing dramatic, just a line to keep your hand busy while you watched him melt.

Bob opened his mouth–probably to deny it–but all he managed was a shaky breath and another glance down. His fists had tightened on the cushion again, knuckles white, like the couch was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. You followed his gaze and saw the way his fingers were digging into the fabric.

You didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, soft and playful:

“You know…” Your voice dropped to a purr as your eyes flicked back to his, “You could put them on my hips. I promise it’d be better than the poor old cushion.”

Bob inhaled sharply–like the suggestion itself was enough to knock the wind out of him. His eyes met yours again, wide and caught between wonder and panic.

“I–I d-don’t wanna mess this up,” He admitted in a hush, the words barely held together by breath. “I-I don’t wanna touch you wrong. Or–or make you uncomfortable. I j-just–”

You leaned in a fraction closer, your breath brushing the corner of his mouth.

“You won’t,” You whispered. “I promise.”

Then, slower, softer, like an invitation dressed as a tease:

“I want you to. That’s kind of the reason why I climbed on top of you in the first place…” Your hands stayed steady on the sketchbook, but your thighs squeezed gently around him in reassurance. His hands twitched against the cushion again. He looked like a man at the edge of a precipice–equal parts terrified and desperate to fall.

You sighed softly–barely a sound–and lowered your pen to rest atop the sketchbook that still remained on his stomach. Your gaze flicked back down to his hands, which were back to being clenched into the cushion, as if it was going to save him from coming undone.

”Alright…I guess I’ll fix it myself.” You murmured, voice like velvet against his ears. Bob’s eyes darted up to yours, startled–uncertain–but he didn’t move, he just froze in his spot.

You reached for him slowly, deliberately, your fingertips brushing the air before touching down gently on the inside of each of his wrists. And the moment you made contact, something happened. His breath stuttered. His jaw tightened. He froze–not from fear, but from the overwhelming awareness of your skin on his. You were the first person to touch his hands in what felt like forever.

You curled your fingers around his wrists–carefully, tenderly–and lifted them. They didn’t fight you. If anything, they followed the motion like they were tethered to you by something deeper than bone. He watched, helpless and wide-eyed, as you guided his trembling hands up to your waist. The fabric of your robe was still damp, soft against his skin, and your body underneath was warm and alive and impossibly close.

And then–you placed his hands on you.

Right on the curve of your hips.

You didn’t let go right away. You kept your hands atop his, cradling them. Holding them in place like you were making sure they knew they belonged there. Like you were grounding him with something far more intimate than words.

Bob exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching instinctively. His thumbs flexed but didn’t dare move–not yet.

Your thumbs brushed over the backs of his hands in slow, gentle strokes. Tracing the veins. The bones. The skin that trembled under your touch. You could feel how warm his hands were. How careful. How desperately he was holding himself back.

Then you leaned forward, just a breath. Just enough.

And Bob tensed.

You saw it in the sharp tick of his jaw, the way the muscles there fluttered under his skin like wings struggling not to fly. His breath caught–again–and his eyes, wide and dark and searching, darted to yours.

Still, you didn’t speak.

You let the silence cradle you both, let the hush between your bodies fill with everything unsaid. The air was thick with heat, your knees snug around his hips, your chest nearly brushing his.

”Kiss me Bob…” The words were soft—barely above a whisper—but they hit him like a solar flare. No fanfare. No hesitation. Just truth. Raw and crystalline and glowing at the edges.

Bob’s breath stilled in his chest. His hands, still resting on your hips beneath your own, trembled like a leaf caught between seasons. His pulse roared in his ears. His jaw clenched tighter, the muscle jumping as he stared at you with wide, reverent eyes—like he wasn’t sure if you were real, or if his dreaming had finally bled into the waking world.

You could feel it—the way his fingers curled just slightly against you. The way his breath shuddered as it passed your cheek. His lips were parted, damp and trembling. And when your nose brushed his—when the air between you seemed to collapse under the weight of wanting—his eyes fluttered closed for a second like the moment alone might undo him.

He was so warm beneath your touch.

So human.

And so afraid to move.

Your hands slid from atop his fingertips gliding up his wrists, along the crook of his elbows, to the dip in his shoulders—slow and patient, grounding him inch by inch. He followed your motion like a tethered thing, like a current pulled toward a shore he didn’t dare believe in. You cupped his face gently–just the edges of his jaw, your thumbs brushing along the sharp lines softened by awe–and tilted his gaze back to yours.

“Only if you want to of course…” You whispered, breath ghosting across his lips like the first touch of dawn.

Bob didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. He was still unraveling–thread by golden thread–under the weight of the moment. The way you were looking at him was unbearable in its tenderness. Like he was beautiful. Like you were waiting for him. Like he was safe here, in your hands.

“I do,” He breathed, and it was hoarse with want. “I–I’ve w-wanted to for…for so long, I–”

You silenced him with nothing but the brush of your forehead against his. Close. Closer. Until the world fell away and there was only breath. Skin. Heat. Until the tip of your nose nudged his again, teasing him, beckoning him to come closer.

He leaned in like a man surrendering–like he was handing himself over with shaking hands and an open heart.

And when Bob kissed you, it wasn’t practiced or perfect. It wasn’t confident or slick. It was slow. Soft. Starved. Like his lips had never truly known what they were for until they found yours.

The kiss started as a brush–barely there. Like the whisper of silk against skin. His breath trembled as it left him, catching on yours, and then he kissed you again. Firmer. Deeper. Still slow, still trembling, but real. Like he meant it. Like he needed it.

His lips were warm and unsure, moving with reverent caution, and you could feel it–the aching restraint thrumming through every fiber of his body. He wasn’t holding you like he wanted to devour you–he was holding you like he was afraid you might disappear.

You responded with a steadiness he couldn’t manage, your mouth tilting gently into his, coaxing him closer. You kissed him like you knew he could take more, like you knew he wanted to be undone if you did it slowly enough.

Your hands slid up into his hair, threading through the soft, messy strands at the back of his head. He gasped into your mouth at the feeling—barely a sound, more like a breath catching on something too big to hold. And then you did it again–fingernails grazing his scalp, thumbs sweeping across the hinges of his jaw–and his whole body gave the faintest shudder beneath you.

He whimpered–soft and broken and so full of want it made heat bloom low in your stomach.

You opened your mouth against his just slightly, inviting him in–and Bob kissed you harder. Still careful, but with a new desperation under the surface. Like something in him had finally snapped loose. His hands, once trembling against your hips, flexed and pulled you in tighter. Not greedy–yearning. Anchoring. Like if he pressed you close enough, he could finally quiet whatever storm had lived inside his chest since the day he met you.

When your tongue touched his–soft, tentative–he gasped like he wasn’t prepared for the heat of it. His whole body stiffened beneath you, then melted so quickly you almost collapsed into him. The kiss deepened by inches, by instinct, until it was slow-burning and sultry, hot and aching and so much.

Your lips parted only slightly, breath mingling with his, and you murmured something soft against his mouth–something he couldn’t even register, because the sound of you speaking into his kiss lit a fuse inside him he didn’t know he carried.

He kissed you again, and again. And again.

Each one a little longer. A little slower. A little more desperate.

Your robe shifted with every move–slipping just a touch more from your shoulder, brushing across the backs of his hands, baring more skin to his touch. His thumbs skated over your waist now, unthinking, and slow. As if he was mapping you. Memorizing you.

You broke the kiss with a whisper-soft sigh, eyes half-lidded, your lips still brushing his.

“Still feel like you don’t know what you’re doing?” You asked, breathless and smug and sweet.

Bob didn’t answer right away. His mouth chased yours again, stealing another kiss that was softer than the last. Sweeter. Like a thank you.

“I feel like I c-could kiss you forever,” He said, and his voice cracked beautifully on the last word.

You smiled at him. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I don’t want you to stop.”

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lhseungs · 4 months ago

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— ❛ WHERE THEY CUM ❜

. . . MEMBERS: enhypen hyung line - heeseung, jay, jake, and sunghoon

. . . WARNING / TAGS: smut, 18+, afab!reader, breeding, creampie, oral (m!receiving), creampie, overstimulation, orgasm denial (sorta), handjob, sorta sub!jake and dom!reader (implied), squirting, aftercare. not proofread!

. . . A/N: and another post taken from my old account, though this time i actually wrote it. sorry it took so long. i wrote majority of it and it didn’t save, unfortunately. anyway, enjoy!

✧ HEESEUNG

heeseung has an insane breeding kink. the second you tell him to cum in you, its like a switch goes off, gripping your waist with the most sinful moan escaping his lips. he loves filling you up and watching you take his seed, pushing it back in when he sees it spilling out.

“so fuckin’ tight, baby,” heeseung grunts, head falling back. “gonna cum soon.”

whimpers escape your lips as heeseung pounds into you. the lewd sound of skin slapping skin echoes the bedroom, bed shaking and hitting the wall. “p-please, hee… cum in me”

heeseung's eyes darken at your words. he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to land on his. “hmm... my pretty baby wants me to fill her up?"

you nod, eyes pleading at you look up at heeseung. like a switch, heeseung pushes your legs against your chest and pounds deeper into you. you moan out, arms scratching heeseungs back as you try to ground yourself to something, the knot in your abdomen tightens.

"m'gonna fill you up so fucking good, baby," heeseung hisses, his thrusts getting sloppier.

your nails dig into heeseungs arm. "'seung... i'm gonna-"

"shit, me too, baby," heeseung's pace doesn't falter as your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking as you let out a loud moan.

with one last thrust, heeseung lets out a sinful moan, cumming right along with you. he fills you up, his white seed painting your insides and your name leaving his lips like a mantra.

heeseung looks down as his cum slowly drips out of your cunt. a fire ignites in him as he thrusts his cum back into you, relishing in the white ring formed at the base of his cock.

“h-hee, it’s too much-“ you cry out, clawing at his arms again as his thrusts increase speed.

“one more round, pretty. i know you could do it.”

✧ JAY

there’s just something about cumming in your mouth that jay is obsessed with. the way you look up at him with your pretty eyes while sucking him off, the way you grab the parts of him your mouth can't reach, and the way you swallow every bit of him gets him seeing stars every time the two of you fuck.

jay's head falls back against the chair as your mouth moves up and down his cock, covering his mouth to muffle the moans leaving his lips.

he risks lifting his head to watch you. you look up at him, eyelashes wet from previous tears, and continue to bob your head. your beautiful, pretty, doll-like eyes looking up at him as you suck his cock had jay bucking his hips.

"you look so pretty, baby," jay whispers, "so fucking beautiful for me."

you hum in response, causing jay to shiver and groan. he curses, grabbing a fistful of your hair. "fuck, doll, do that again."

you oblige, humming on jay's cock causing a moan to escape his lips. jay tightens his grip on your hair, holding your head still as he thrusts into your mouth making you gag.

jay's breathing gets heavier as he mouth-fucks you, moans growing louder as he gets close to his orgasm. "you're gonna take it, right? take it like a good girl and swallow every last drop."

again, you hum in response and jay lets out another loud moan. "oh, f-fuck, y/n-" he bucks his hips one more time as he cums, his warm seed spilling into your mouth as you swallow it all.

jay pull out and watches his cum spill from your lips. he leans closer to you and wipes the cum from your lips with his thumb. "say ‘ah’, baby." you open your mouth as jay inserts his thumb in your mouth. you lick the cum off his finger and he smirks.

"good girl."

✧ JAKE

heaven to jake is cumming on your face. doesn't matter where it lands (and frankly, you dont care either), but just seeing your face full of his cum as he kisses you senseless could get him hard again, and again, and again. he could go multiple rounds as long as he gets to see his cum painted on your cheeks.

jake whimpers as he goes on to round two. your hands are around his cock as he lays against the bedframe, chest heaving.

"you wanted another round," you state as you slowly stroke him, the cum from his previous round dripping from your cheek.

"i-i know."

you smile. slowly, you begin to increase speed, stroking his red cock that's just aching to cum again. you slide your thumb over the slit and jake whimpers again, bucking his hips.

as you stroke him, you lean forward and press your lips to his. jake kisses you feverishly, the taste of his cum on your lips setting him aflame. you increase your speed and jake moans against your lips.

"baby, i'm gonna cum," he mumbles against your lips. you chuckle.

"not yet, jakie."

he groans, head falling back against the headboard. you pepper kisses along down his jaw and collarbone, biting and sucking the pale flesh as his moans increase in volume. you giggle again.

you kiss down his chest and abdomen, then finally, you plant a kiss on the head of his cock. he bites his lip, muffling a moan as you say the magic words. "cum, jakie."

without a second thought jakes orgasm hits him, ropes of cum painting your face like a canvas. jake closes his eyes as he rides his high, moans echoing in your room. as jake opens his eyes, you lick your lips, tasting the cum on your face. jakes head falls back again as he groans.

"you're gonna be the death of me, baby."

✧ SUNGHOON

sunghoon is the king of aftercare, no doubt. which is why his favorite place to cum is your stomach. he loves leaving a mess on you, spreading it along your body, and fucking you again, the cycle continues, just so afterwards he could clean you up so well and take good care of you.

you've lost count how many rounds it has been. 2? 3? maybe even 4? you're unsure. but all you do know is sunghoon is fucking you like an animal in heat. your eyes are rolled to the back of your head, tears staining your cheeks, and the cum on your stomach already drying as sunghoon pounds into you for the nth time that night.

he groans, pulling your leg over his shoulder to fuck you deeper. a moan leaves your lips at the new position.

"hoon, it's too much..." you sob, clawing at the bedsheets.

sunghoon shakes his head. "last round, my love, i swear."

your chest is heaving as, again, your orgasm approaches. you frantically pull at the sheets as you feel the knot tighten. "sunghoon, i'm so close!"

with his free hand, sunghoon rubs your clit frantically while continue to pound into you. "come on, baby. cum for me." with a pornographic moan, you cum, legs shaking as you squirt on sunghoons cock.

"shit, baby. oh fuck!" sunghoon moans as you squirt on him. his thrusts get sloppier and he quickly pulls out with a hiss, stroking his cock as he releases onto your stomach. the ropes of white cum land on your stomach and sunghoon sighs and falls next to you in the bed.

a minute or so passed when suddenly, sunghoon gets up and goes to the bathroom. you smile, knowing whats about to come as you hear the bath running.

sunghoon returns, wet towel in hand as he cleans you up and places a kiss to your forehead. he lifts you up and leads you to your shared bathroom. sunghoon gently places you in the tub and kisses your forehead again as you sigh.

"you did so well for me, my love."

. . . TAGLIST: @sailoryuns @sickntrd @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @rayofsunshineeee

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bunni-v1 · 6 months ago

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What do we have here…?

🍓Couldn’t get sending Harumasa nudes out of my head and then I saw @mini-ism post about Caesar going through Livhters phone and had Jimmy Neutron Brain blast. (My moots are so awesome and talented and everyone should give them love). Like... what DO they have on their phone, if anything? So that's what this is. Also took this as my chance to write for my favorite straight white cat boy Seth.

Tw: Nsfw; recording during sex; rough sex (all); somnophilia (Harumasa); breeding kink (Seth); bottom harumasa and seth; Mommy kink (seth); grammar errors (inevitable)

Info: Fem bodied reader (no pronouns i think? use of mommy though); Harumasa x Reader; Lighter x Reader; Seth x Reader; I tried to add plot but who am I kidding this is porn

Harumasa Asaba

The first time Asaba Harumasa asked to record you during sex, you declined. He'd wanted it so he could use it at work, during those days that he really needed you most. It's not like you were shy about your body, especially not with him. He'd seen you naked a million times and done more than just admire your body on numerous occasions. You just didn't want to do it, not with the risk of his very important friends possibly seeing them. The idea of sweet Sokaku sneaking on his phone and somehow finding the videos was mortifying, to say the least. The consequences afterward would probably be even worse, you'd never be able to look Yanagi in the eyes again.

So, you told him no, and who is Asaba to press you on something like that. Feminism was hot, or whatever. He just wanted to see what he could get away with. Little did he know he planted a seed in your brain that kept on growing and growing until, one night, you asked him if he was still into the whole recording you thing.

He wanted to say "No fucking duh." But instead, he smiled and nodded all cute-like, "Oh? I thought you didn't want to? Don't tell me you've been holding out on me now..." And thus began your unexpected obsession with making amateur porn.

Harumasa isn't an idiot, of course, he keeps everything in a hidden folder within a hidden folder, accessible via a password only he knows. (He would give up any chance at living a long life to keep Sokaku as far away from his porn stash as possible). It's surprisingly well organized, coming from him at least. Categorized by type (picture and videos), who was topping, and which kinks you indulged in.

His personal favorites, though, are saved in a separate folder within those already existing folders. They're his go-to when he's feeling so very pent up at work and needs release fast enough that Yanagi won't come looking for him. Like right now, the phone under the desk and the volume just loud enough that only he could make it out by straining his ears. A little treat for his hard work today.

The first one starts out with shaky camera work -- you'd grabbed and started recording in a hurry like you realized this one would make good content for him. (You were right, as usual). The sun is peaking through the curtains of his dark apartment, and with the light, he can just barely make out his sleeping face. You pan the camera down, and one of your hands is gently tracing along his slowly hardening cock, already free and begging for you to suck it. It jumps in your hand as you rub the tip, and then all of a sudden the camera flips and he gets to see your face. You have eyebags under your eyes and your hair is sticking out in several places with little bruises littering your collarbones. Just how he likes you. Shuffling follows and the camera jerks around awkwardly until it rests on his abdomen and refocuses on you, dick still in hand and eyes blinking innocently at the camera.

You tap the tip against your cheek a few times, Harumasa's hips pressing up into your hand as you do so. You smile a little at him offscreen, and it's almost affectionate until you swallow him down in one go. What you can't fit in your mouth you fist with your hand, bobbing in a perfectly trained rhythm that he knows would have him seeing stars. His hips awkwardly jerk, but you take him so well that it doesn't even bother you. The camera shifts again as Harumasa himself begins to wake up. A confused, "Oh fuck," is moaned out in the background, just barely audible over the heavenly sound of you sucking and swallowing him up. Then, your eyes flutter up, right as a hand fists its way into your hair. The video cuts shortly after that, leaving the rest of it up to his impeccable memory.

The next one is a bit longer, and honestly humiliating for him, but he can't get enough of it. Again you're holding the camera, but this time he is awake. It starts with your hand on his ass, marked with the harsh imprint of your strikes, bright and red and sure to bruise (it did). You make sure to get a good angle of yourself pounding him into the sheets, the sounds of squelching mixed with incoherent babbling from him something sinful. You glide your hand over his bare back, camera following along, then tug on his fluffy black hair. He lets out a pathetic whine as you push the camera into his fucked out face. Cheeks red, drool dripping down his chin, eyes watery and unfocused. It's all he can do to answer you when you finally ask, "You were a good boy today, weren't you Harumasa? Tell the camera how good you were today."

"Yessss, 'm a very good boy~" He hiccups out through your harsh thrusts.

You coo at him, pressing a little kiss to his cheek which gets him smiling like a moron in the video, "You know what good boys get to do, right?"

He visibly jolts in the frame, right as you wrap your pretty fingers around his swollen cock just out of frame. A whorish moan leaves his mouth as you pick up the pace, determined to make him cum. His whole face twists in pleasure as he cries out your name, releasing all over your fingers and the sheets. The camera flips, and you're giggling as you spread the covered hand playfully for the camera. "Such a good boy~" You hum, and the video cuts as you begin sucking each finger clean.

The last one he has, which is the only one where he's holding the camera, is his personal favorite. You're in the Section 6 office, legs spread out and perched wobbly on the arms of his desk chair. Miyabi, Yanagi, and Sokaku were all out for lunch and you'd been so sweet to bring him the one he'd 'accidentally' forgotten at home. His pace was fast and rough as he slammed into you. He preferred taking things slow, but even he had to admit he liked the thrill of a quicky in such an open area. One hand comes down to hold your thigh at a different angle, and you let out the squeakiest excuse for his name he'd ever heard. "I thought you didn't want them to see you like this... you're awfully contradictory~" He teases from behind the camera, not that you have it in you to do anything but whine at him. "What would Miyabi think of you..." He tuts, "and poor Tsukishiro might have a heart attack... how shameless can you be?"

He zooms in on your face, head thrown back and mouth stuck wide open with empty gasps just begging to become moans. Your body shakes as his thrusts become less fast and more rough, skin slapping against skin in the quiet office on the very desk he was scrolling through his phone. He can see his name form on your lips.

"Harumasa," Came Yanagi's voice instead, he jumps, quickly locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket, "I understand paperwork is boring, but scrolling on your phone is-"

"Unacceptable, I know," He sighs, "I'm getting to it I promise. Just... right after a quick bathroom break, okay?"

He's up and gone before she can respond, already deciding which video he should watch to fix his little issue. Oh! Or he could ask you for a new one right now, it'd been a minute since he'd gotten you masturbating.

Lighter Lorenz

Lighter didn't get the appeal of it at first. Why would he settle for videos and pictures when the real thing was so much better? Just didn't make sense to him, but sure, he'd let you do what you want. You were damn adorable with how excited you got when he said yes to another video or picture.

It wasn't until an extended period of time away from you that he realized how badly he was missing out. He was horny and you were too far away to do anything about it and no matter what he imagined he could not get off for the life of him. So, he caves and asks you to send one of those videos you'd made. It was probably the fastest he'd cum by himself since getting with you.

Lighter admits defeat, you were right, those videos are something else. Not nearly as good as the real thing, but close enough when he needed it. He's very selective about what does and does not get filmed though. There are some moments he wants to keep just between the two of you, no cameras or anything like that. However, once he gets into it he really gets into it, and those videos are cinema for amateur pornstars.

He keeps the videos and pictures in an unlabeled folder on his phone, not nearly as meticulous about hiding it as Harumasa or Seth might be. He didn't have the risk factor, the girls wouldn't go through his phone without asking first, and he wasn't careless enough to leave it out for others to dig through its contents. He also wasn't stupid enough to look through his little stash with others around, always waiting until he was completely isolated to look.

You were out for the night doing something or another for someone, too kind for your own good, leaving only Lighter and his hand to keep his dick company. He clicks open the folder, smiling to himself when he's met with pretty pictures of you.

He scrolls a bit, then clicks on a more recently recorded one. The camera is focused on your stomach, just low enough that he can see the flared red tip of his dick teasing your swollen clit. A deep chuckle sounds from behind the camera, followed by a grumpy little whine from you. He takes the hint, sliding his tip down and slowly dipping it into your drooling cunt. You let out the cutest squeal as he stretches you out, his hips angling up so his cock presses against your tummy.

The camera zooms in on the outline of his tip, pressing just below your navel. You babble something incoherent, and Lighter hums like it's the most interesting thing in the world. His calloused hand comes into view, tracing the outline with a low hiss. "Fuck, you feel me inside baby?" You mumble something out again, a much smaller hand sliding under his. He presses down as you trace a finger over him, and a whorish moan leaves your mouth. He ruts himself into you, hand pressing down so both of you could feel just how deep inside he was. Your body trembles with each hard thrust, and the camera work gets shakier and shakier the louder Lighter gets until it stops altogether after an annoyed groan — literally thrown across the room so he could focus more on you.

The next one he picks among a sea of delicacies is an older one, one of the first he'd agreed to make with you. The camera is set up on the nightstand, angled nicely so he could see your pretty tits bouncing with each thrust of his hips up into yours. You're wearing his scarf around your neck, and you look like sex incarnate hopping up and down on him.

His veiny hands grab at your hips, guiding each movement with careful precision. You're leaned back, head thrown to the sky as you call his name like a mantra. Each thrust makes your voice peak a little higher, the only thing louder being the slap of wet skin on skin. One particularly rough thrust has you keening, falling forward to press your sweaty face to his just out of frame. He can see your hips roll desperately into his own for all of a few seconds before his hands wrap around your thighs to hoist you up so he can bully his cock into your abused pussy. The whole bed shakes as the headboard slams into the wall, the camera tumbling to the ground forgotten as it records your brainless sobs over the sound of his brutal pace. A weird habit he’s noticed consistently in these videos.

He's close, he can feel it, as he strokes himself a little faster. Just needed the perfect thing to push him over the edge. He taps one of your personal favorites, citing it as 'the most fun' for you to film. In it, he is holding the camera down, you're kneeling between his legs, head resting on his thigh as your deft fingers play with his member. You smile up at him, sliding the bead of precum around the tip like a game.

He's huge in your hand, and it's a miracle you manage to fit your slim fingers around his fat cock. Slowly stroking down, then back up, your thumb sure to run over that vein that made his toes curl. You keep a steady pace, teasing him with the sweetest grin on your face.

"Feelin' good baby?" You purr up at him, amused at what is likely a very red faced Lighter.

There's an audible swallow, and the camera shakes as he answers, "Real good. Takin' good care 'f me."

You giggle, satisfied with the answer enough to lean down and start sucking on his balls. Your other hand scraped against his thigh, the muscles beneath tensing at the sensation. The sound of your sucking, mixed in with his little whimpers has him cumming prematurely, not that it stops him from fucking his hand through his orgasm. The video continues on like that, you teasing him to the edge and denying him his orgasm like a monster. Unlike then, he had quiet the mess to clean up now.

He thinks better of just cleaning it up, though. Instead snapping a quick picture and sending it to you with a little, 'Miss you.'

Seth Lowell

Seth is an incredibly polite, considerate, sweetheart who would never in a million years dream of asking to record you during sex. He might just be the most vanilla guy in all of New Eirdu, and recording seems... a little violating of your privacy. It's not something he considers an option.

Until one day, after a very long week where you and Seth hadn't seen each other for more than a few hours thanks to his work schedule. He's lying in the dorms, texting you about mundane tasks when you throw out how much you miss him. He obviously misses you too, and says so. You ask him if he would like to see how much you miss him, and the sweet thing he is the undertone goes right over his head. He expects a picture of you maybe pouting, doing something you would typically do together by yourself.

When he opens it he's greeted by you, two fingers deep in your own cunt, pretty juices glistening in the dim lighting of your bedroom -- oh god is that his shirt you're wearing? He short circuits, literally just staring slack-jawed at the phone for god knows how long until one of his buddies comes in and starts poking fun at him. He slams the phone down, and he makes it home in record time. That was all the convincing he needed from you to record your (rather basic) sexual escapades.

Seth does not save the videos, ever. They're all in your text chain, pinned there for easy access, but he refuses to keep them in his album. Way too risky for him with his family and his coworkers and... well... knowing himself. They're really only there for you, he doesn't have any free time to watch them and get off. He does, however like watching them when he's alone in the dorms for the night. Just a nice reminder of what he'll be doing next time he sees you.

Like this one, where the camera is pointed down on him, red-faced and teary-eyed as you ride him like no tomorrow. His chest is littered with little purple love bites, and your fingers splay out across them as you roll your hips deliciously against him. He whimpers in the video, shying away from the camera. The hand on his chest reaches over to flick his already too-hard nipple, twisting it a little. A giggle bubbles out of your chest when he keens.

"You like it when I ride you, don't you Seth...?" You coo, tracing your fingers over to the other nipple to give it attention. He nods with a whine, biting back his moans. You pinch him harshly as punishment, "Use your words."

He sighs, humiliated at the degradation, but swallows his pride and responds, "Yes Mommy."

He grimaces at his own voice, quickly closing out of the video to find something a little less... vocal. He settles on one where the camera is pointed down, you're wearing pretty blue lingerie. In this one, he's between your legs, ears flattened back as he gives you little kitten licks to your sensitive bud. The rough texture of his tongue makes your legs twitch, nearly closing on him, but fighting themselves back open.

He looks up to the camera, or more so past it, to look at you just begging for approval. Your hand comes into the frame, rubbing at one of his ears encouragingly. He lights up, taking the sign as his chance to swallow you down. He dives in like a kitten into milk, slurping and sucking with your hand guiding his movements. Your little sighs of approval get his tail curling up in the air behind him. Your little happy kitty, servicing you like the queen you are. “Good boy~” You coo so sweetly, and his tail twitches excitedly behind him.

He smiles fondly at the phone, was it weird to find it more cute than hot. Maybe he was too lovestruck. It didn't matter too much to him as he found one that you had favorited in the chat. He... didn't remember this one at all from the thumbnail, it got him curious.

The first thing he's greeted by is you face down in the sheets, his pale hand pushing your head into the pillows. Then he hears the wet slapping of skin, the camera following down to show where he was fucking you from behind. His entire abdomen is literally shimmering with a mix of your and his cum, the sticky white substance quite literally all over your back and his hands now that he was looking.

This was... he can't believe he had the mental capacity to think to record himself fucking you during his heat. His cock stirs in his pants, but he's too curious to stop watching before he screws himself over too much. The camera shifts as he leans over you, giving it a perfect view as he bites into the back of your neck. Your face is stained with tears, and your mouth is wide open with pleasure -- no sound escaped though, and Seth realizes that he'd fucked your throat raw in this video.

"Gonna fuck you full of my kits, wanna make you a real Mommy. That's okay, right? You wanna have my babies too don't you?" his rough voice mumbles into your skin, and you only nod in response, too fucked out to really do anything else.

He thinks the video will end there, but instead, the camera pulls up again as Seth pulls out. A broken, muted wail leaves you at the loss, but Seth ignores it in favor of recording your used pussy. Globs of cum leak out of it, down your thighs, and Seth's nimble fingers scoop it up and shove it back inside like in a trance. He clicks his phone off at that, way too flustered at the sight.

A frustrated sigh leaves his lips as he falls back into the uncomfortable bedding of the dorm. Great, now he was rock-hard and had no way of getting off. He had work in two hours, but there was no way he'd be getting any sleep like this. He frowns at his lock screen, a picture of the two of you together. You wouldn't mind if he came home and interrupted your rest that much, would you?

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